


Though I Have To Say Goodbye

by Jillybellys



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: .... eventually., Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accident, Character Death, Dante is a Good Boy, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hector & Miguel bonding is so gunna happen dont you worry, Hurt/Comfort, I'll update the tags as I go, It gets better!, Loss, Protective Family, cause there are nice moments in there too my friends, i'll just be up front about that so like sorry ya'll, protective Hector
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-16 10:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jillybellys/pseuds/Jillybellys
Summary: “No.” Imelda said with a shake of her head. “No.. No this is a mistake. We would know if Miguel was… if something happened to Miguel.” Her eyes darted to the photo as she frowned. “The Department of Family Reunions would have called us. We would know.”“Parece que sí…”“Pero…”“Why would his photo be here then.” The twins whispered.Héctor hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the photo, shaking hands hovering over it.This had to be a mistake. This couldn't be real.Miguel couldn't be dead.~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~When an accident rips Miguel from the land of the living much to early, he finds himself in the Land of the Dead, this time for good. Through a series of unfortunate mix ups (and some purposeful meddling from every ones favorite disgraced musician), Miguel finds himself alone and wondering why his family never came for him. But for a boy like Miguel, the world is his family. And some how, it'll be alright.Oh, and Dante is a good boy!





	1. The Ofrenda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AND WELCOME TO MY COCO FIC 
> 
> I sure am hopping on this band wagon late but hey I adore this movie and totally haven't seen it like five times.
> 
> I've seen it at least 8 times by now. 
> 
> So warning here, this is character death. And it broke my heart to do it. But was kind of an evil necessity considering almost the entire story takes place in the Land of the Dead. It doesn't actually happen in this chapter and I will always make sure to put warnings up if something is happening in a chapter that warrants it. 
> 
> And with out further adieu, enjoy!

Héctor was practically bouncing in his bones. True these days he wasn't quite so loose as he used to be. Side effect of being better remembered, he was no longer quite literally falling apart with each step. 

Which was probably a good thing considering the speed at which he was rushing through the station. Had this been a few years ago he would have been a pile of bones several times over. 

“Espera me Héctor!” Imelda called from behind him. 

The skeleton stopped walking and instead bounced around in place, still overcome with giddiness as his bones made a clacking sound with all the movement. 

“What, you think you’re going to run off without the rest of us?” His wife scowled, giving him a flick where his ear used to be. 

Héctor sniggered to himself a little bit. He knew she was just as excited as he was to visit their family in the world of the living. He was just more… exuberant than her about showing it. (What he called exuberance Imelda called childish)

“Do you think Miguelito is taller this year?” Coco mused, arm in arm with her husband Julio. The family had all caught up to them by this point.

“If he’s anything like me, he’s going to sprout up like a bean pole soon.” Héctor grinned. 

Imelda only huffed. “He’s already too much like you.” But beneath the ire her lips quirked up just slightly as she elbowed her husband. 

“He was too thin last time.” Rosita lamented. “If only I could cook for him….”

“I’m sure Elena makes sure he eats just fine.” Victoria shrugged.

“I just can’t wait to eat those conchas that Elena makes.”

“Siempre son muy deliciosa!” 

The twins sighed in unison. 

Two sharp claps drew everyone's attention back to Imelda as she leveled a stern look to her family. “Come, the more we dawdle the longer it’ll take to get there.” 

The others all nodded, but Héctor just gave a happy little sigh. His wife had always been a commanding presence, and to be frank he was glad it was a presence he was allowed to enjoy again. He wrapped an arm around her waist and gave a small kiss to her cheek, ignoring her little eye roll at him.

As they approached the marigold bridge everyone shifted to join hands, as was seemingly tradition. Just as last year Héctor had one hand in Imelda’s grasp, the other holding on to Coco. 

Where his heart had once been he felt a strong warmth swelling up with in him. It was as if the glow of the marigolds were reflecting his inner joy at being with his family again. Every day he thanked his lucky stars that he had his family back. But today, he was especially grateful. 

And he knew it wasn't just the stars, he had his boy to thank for it too. 

Miguel. Hardly a day would go by where he didn't wonder what his great great grandson had been up to. 

As Héctor walked over the bridge he mused on the chico. He no doubt would be taller this year. He hoped that Miguel would play guitar again in the court yard like last year. Music was his very soul and somehow he had managed to pass it down to the kid. Nothing made him happier than thinking about Miguel plucking out chords with his old guitar. As much as he missed it, it was in good hands. 

With each step the petals glowed at their feet and the pathway began to wind down, descending towards the mortal world. Héctor was hit with a wave of nostalgia as soon as his feet hit soil. 

Santa Cecilia. Before last year he never thought he would see it again. A lot had changed in 90 years, but the soul of the town still felt the same. 

The cemetery was full with families, scattered about the graves with their ancestors, glowing gold, watching over their living loved ones. It was enough to make Héctor smile. For over 90 years he had dreamed of just this. And even now that Coco was with them in the Land of the Dead, he was just glad he could come back to visit his mijo. 

His eyes scanned across the area and fell for just a moment upon the mausoleum for De La Cruz. Héctor huffed just a smidge. No one had bothered to take down the ‘forget you’ sign. For the best, he thought. 

He spared a moment's thought for what his old friend was up to. They had not seen him last year at Día De Los Muertos. Frankly Héctor wasn't entirely positive if he had even managed to get out from underneath that bell by that point. A small angry part of him hoped they would have just left him there.

Not entirely for his sake- OK a little for his sake. Héctor was still sore about the whole poisoning issue. He figured he had a right to be for at least another decade or two. 

No the issue that got him was the (twice) attempted murder of his still living grandson. Such a transgression was not so easily forgiven. Héctor didn't consider himself a violent man (he had Imelda for that), but he knew that should he and Ernesto cross paths again it wouldn't be pretty. 

Not the least of which because he was fairly positive Imelda would pull out her shoe on such an occasion. 

A wise man feared the heel of Imelda’s boot. Héctor certainly did. 

The sudden sensation of fur against his legs drew Héctor from his thoughts. The skeleton looked down to see a cat weaving in and about the families feet. 

“Pepita.” Imelda cooed softly, reaching down to gently stroke the fur of her now much smaller alebrije. 

“Where’s Dante?” Julio wondered aloud as they walked through the town. 

While the dog and cat alebrije had only known each other a short while, they were fairly inseparable. But for the last few months hardly any one had seen hide nor hair of the florecently colored dog. 

Perhaps a bit of a blessing. The perro did have a habit of causing trouble around the workshop… and the house, everywhere really. Victoria had certainly chased him out of the kitchen enough times, perhaps he had finally gotten the message. 

“Probably with Miguel.” Felipe noted. 

“I’m sure we’ll see him at the house.” Óscar nodded. 

Music began to fill the air around them and Héctor couldn't help but smile as they passed through the plaza. His ponderings on the whereabouts of the xolo dog quickly forgotten. He let his eyes be drawn for just a moment to the gazebo where a mariachi band was playing. He quickly recognized the notes coming from the instruments as he began to sing softly along. 

“You make me un poco loco~” he sang, grinning unabashedly at his wife. 

She rolled her eyes at him but gave him the slightest smile. Héctor grinned and took the woman's hand, giving her a gentle spin. 

A life time ago he had leaned across the rail of that gazeebo, singing the same song to the stern beauty. ‘Un poquititito loco’ he had hummed, nimble fingers plucking the strings of a white guitar, which he had proudly painted and decorated himself. 

Ernesto had pounded him on his back and laughed, ‘You’d have better luck with a queen than you would wooing Imelda.’ 

‘One day,’ Héctor had whispered, ‘she’s going to be my wife.’ 

His friend had only laughed a little more and gone back to his own guitar. The melody softly carrying through the wind in the square as they played. 

In the years since his death Héctor had come to loathe many of his past songs. There was just something so… wrong about hearing them from people who didn't even know it was he who penned them. Every time he heard ‘Remember Me’ sung in that overcharged bravado that De la Cruz had it made him cringe. 

But in the last two years, he had found his opinion changing. It was a little wondrous what one boy could do for his entire outlook on life. (And you know, the whole world finding out Ernesto was a crook. That part was good too!) 

The music faded out and the audience around the square began to clap. The musicians took a bow and then righted themselves, readjusting their instruments. A stout looking man approached the microphone, he cleared his throat once and removed his blue charro hat.

“For our last song-“ the Mariachi began. “We’d like to honor Miguelito Rivera.” he said, a sad sort of smile creeping across his lips as he turned his head back to the rest of the band, all nodding and taking up their instruments again. 

The entirety of the skeleton family paused. 

“Miguel?” The twins both said in unison, exchanging a puzzled look. 

Imelda held a finger to her lips and gave a quick ‘shush’ as they all focused back on the gazebo and the band. 

“Uno.. dos…” the head mariachi began to count, the numbers giving way to a soft strumming of the guitar. 

No one moved to sing, but Héctor didn't need them to. He recognized the opening chords to ‘Remember Me’ anywhere. 

If Héctor had eyebrows they both would be raised right now. 

“What do you suppose that’s all about?” Julio mumbled to his wife. Coco only shrugged, turning her eyes up towards her mother and father. 

Imelda shook her head. “No sé…” 

Héctor felt the beginnings of anxiousness in his bones as he turned. “I'm sure we’ll find out at the house,” he said, assuring himself really more than anyone else. 

His wife gave a firm nod and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come.” She said as everyone followed the path away from the plaza to the casa de Rivera. 

Even without a nose Héctor could smell the sweet aroma of pan dulce in the air, mixing with the fresh scent of marigolds that were absolutely everywhere. 

But something was absent. 

Héctor paused, trying to figure it out. He saw the family milling about, placing food around the table and talking. He had never gotten to know his descendants in life, what with being killed by his best friend in his early twenties, but many nights sat around the kitchen fire with Imelda going over photographs had made sure he knew what names went with what faces.

Elena gave a heavy sigh as she placed a large plate full of tamales down upon the table in the center of the courtyard. The tamales were only a portion of the vast array of delicious foods laid out. She wiped the beads of sweat that dotted her forehead. 

“Mamá please sit down.” A man said, coming to steer the older woman by the shoulders towards a chair. Héctor was able to recognize him as Enrique, Miguel's father. Which would make him Héctors great grandson.

If he squinted he could see the resemblance, the man Miguel would grow up to look like one day. Both seemed to take after him in looks (despite what Óscar and Felipe claimed) which made him endlessly happy. 

“I still have to finish the pan de muertos and put Mamá Imelda’s salad on the ofrenda and-”

“Elena, please.” A woman said with a look of pleading in her eyes. “We’ll finish setting the table, just take a rest.” she smiled. 

Coco placed a translucent bony hand on her daughters shoulder. It didn't go through, but they all knew Elena couldn't feel it. “Aye Mija…” the mother sighed. 

Such was the double edged sword of Día De Muertos. They could see their living loved ones, but they couldn't truly communicate with them. Héctor tried to lift his spirits. So he couldnt put his hand on Miguel's shoulder, couldn't help him with his guitar skills, or tell him how proud he was. He could still see him at least!

In truth it felt half empty. A selfish, selfish, part of him wished he could hold Miguel in his arms again like he could his daughter. Last year he had been overjoyed to watch his boy play the guitar for everyone. But felt his phantom heart break every time he reached out for the boy only to realize nothing he did could really reach him. 

So in the last few months Héctor had started a new project. It was hard to dwell on Miguel if he kept his hands occupied. So he had busied himself with preparing a room for the chamaco at their house in the Land of the Dead.

He wouldn't need it yet (not for many MANY years Héctor told himself) but it was something to help pass the time when he wasn’t composing songs to play with Miguel when he finally got to see him again. So far it was simple, and Imelda had told him he was being a bit pre-emptive. But he liked it. Miguel always had a home with them. Always. He was family. 

When he wasn't doing that he had been working on a new guitar for his grandson. He had managed to make a spirit copy of his old one, but his boy deserved his own guitar. It wouldn't be ready for a long while yet, and the design seemed ever changing, but he was making steady progress on it.

And when Miguel one day came to join them in the Land of the Dead there would be a warm bed and a guitar waiting for him. 

And that’s when it dawned on him what was missing.

“There’s no music.”

All the heads in the family suddenly turned to him. Quiet for a moment, listening but hearing nothing. 

“You’re right.” Rosita whispered looking around at the family. “Before… before last year there never was any, but there should at least be little Miguel with his guitar.”

Coco looked up from her perch looking over her daughter. “Si! Dónde está mi Miguelito?” She said scanning the room. 

The chamaco was nowhere to be found. 

Héctor felt a prickle of anxiousness run down the bones on his spine. 

Julio gave a concerned look. “Where is the boy?” he looked around the courtyard. “I haven't seen him…”

“He’s got to be around here somewhere.” Victoria said, though she too wore a nervous expression. 

 

“Maybe he’s just helping set up.” Óscar murmured. 

“Or off playing his guitar somewhere else.” Felipe offered. 

“I’m sure he’ll play some music once he arrives.” They both said in unison with a nod. 

“Calmanse todos.” Imelda sighed. “I’m sure he’s off somewhere causing trouble. It’s still early in the night, we’ll see him before the night is through.”

Héctor nodded, reaching down to take her hand in his gently. “Si, you’re right mi amor.” He smiled, willing that growing feeling of anxiousness to cease. 

He took a deep breath, an odd thing for a skeleton to do no doubt (what with the lack of lungs) but still, it calmed him. “Why don't we check out the ofrenda eh?” he said motioning his head towards the altar room. “I wanna see what the chamaco left me this year.” 

Héctor remembered last year how hesitant he had been to even cross the bridge. Coco had told him of how she saved his picture, and all his letters home. He may or may not have cried as she told him of how Miguel played her the guitar to help her remember and asked her for stories about him. 

(Ok maybe he most definitely did cry. A lot.) 

Though he knew there even was a photo to put up, a lingering doubt had gnawed at him all the way to the station. Would his living family accept him? Would Miguel remember to put it on the ofrenda? 

Héctor quickly learned his great great grandson was never one to do anything by halves. 

After decades of imagining what his family’s ofrenda looked like, any expectations he had held were easy blown away by the site of the Rivera family ofrenda room on that first visit. 

The others had told them that the large quantities of food were normal, but that that year it seemed especially packed with offerings. 

Héctor had found a cornucopia's worth of treats for him along with new clothes, fresh guitar strings, a fresh music composition book, and his most treasured of all, a letter. He had kept and read over that letter a dozen times over. 

Miguel had written about how much he hoped Héctor was around to read it (and aye that panged his heart knowing he had no way to reassure the kid that he did indeed survive), what he had been up to in the year, all the songs he had been learning, how he was telling the world about how it was Héctor that was really the greatest musician of all time. How he sang ‘Remember me’ to his little sister Socorro every night. 

They all got letters, along with little personalized touches from the kid. 

So it was with great excitement that Héctor guided his family along to the ofrenda room. Following the petals with glee. 

Besides maybe they’d find Miguel in there. 

Héctor entered first, Imelda right behind him and he felt a happy sigh wisp through his bones. 

While Miguel wasn't in the room (which made him a little sad), the ofrenda was still beautiful. 

The bright orange petals of the marigolds gave a warm glow throughout the candle lit room. The flame light flickered just slightly in the reflection on the photo frames. Fresh pan dulce and food had been laid out before every ones pictures. The room may have been small but it was packed to the gills with flowers and offerings. Each person's signature shoe style had been placed in front of the photographs, from chanclas and sandals to boots and heels. 

Héctors eyes instantly went to the top of the ofrenda, smiling at the picture of him and his girls (he really needed to remember to make a spirit copy of that photo this year). Through the glass of the frame he could see the torn marks where Imelda had ripped his head off. It had been carefully taped back together, and he could just picture Miguel sitting on the floor repairing it. As he approached the altar Héctor scanned through the photos. They were all there, Victoria’s stern face, Rositas smile, Óscar and Felipe's twin expressions. Julio and Coco placed right next to each other, and a new picture right below theirs on the lowest level of the ofrenda. 

Despite not even having one, Héctor instantly felt his gut drop. 

Nestled between a plate of tamales and bouquet of flowers was a framed photograph of Miguel. 

“No, no, no no…” A choked sound escaped Héctors throat as he lunged forward, reaching for the photograph only to have his hand phase right through it. “This has to be a mistake.”

It looked like a picture from last Día de Muertos, Miguel in his red charro suit, skull guitar in hand. Smiling that one dimpled smile of his.

“Miguel?” Coco whispered, raising her hands to cover her gasp while Julio gripped her shoulder. 

“No.” Imelda said with a shake of her head. “No.. No this is a mistake. We would know if Miguel was… if something happened to Miguel.” Her eyes darted to the photo as she frowned. “The Department of Family Reunions would have called us. We would know.” 

“Parece que sí…” 

“Pero…”

“Why would his photo be here then.” The twins whispered. 

Héctor hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the photo, shaking hands hovering over it. 

This had to be a mistake. This couldn't be real. 

Miguel couldn't be dead. 

When the door opened all of their collective heads snapped up to see Elena shuffle in bearing an armful of marigolds. 

She walked straight through the deceased Rivera’s, towards the ofrenda and layed down her burden of flowers. They all watched in a tense silence as she reached a tentative hand out for the photo of the young guitarist. 

“Ay mijo…” she sighed, breath escaping her as if a sadness. “Te echo de menos…. I wish you were here with us. Te extraño.” 

As Elena held the photograph close to her heart her shoulders began to shake and a quiet sob fell from her lips. 

Héctor’s eyes met Imelda’s. “It has to be… a mistake.” she whispered. 

The man was out the door and running back down the path of marigolds before anyone could say a word to stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnnn
> 
> Next time, Miguel! 
> 
> Btw I have like a 20 chapter buffer here, so for the foreseeable future I'll be updating twice a week (Fridays and Mondays) expect the next chapter on Monday!


	2. Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how I have that 'character death' tag in them there Fic tags? Here she blows my folks. Like I hate to kinda give that way but in the interest full full disclosure wanted to give a warning here. It doesn't get graphic by any means or detailed really. I tried to skip past it as fast as I could. 
> 
> Now all that being said, I loved writing this chapter and this honestly had some of my favorite interactions to write so I hope ya'll enjoy it.

Miguel was like, the best big brother ever. His abuelita Elena had told him so several times. Ever since little Socorro had been born she'd been his shadow dogging at his heels. And he was more than eager to have her around and show her his world of music. She would be the first Rivera in generations to not grow up with melody banned from her. And Miguel was eager to help her grow up. 

And so it was that this night, like many nights before, he had his little sister next to him in the courtyard while he thought of lyrics to his next song. The July air was warm with the gentle tickle of a breeze ruffling the pages of his song book. 

He had been immensely proud of his last song, Proud Corazon, and had jumped at the chance to play it on the holiday in November. It seemed perfect considering his adventures last year had inspired it. He hoped Héctor had liked it. 

He hoped Héctor was  _ around _ to like it. 

Miguel sighed and looked up from his song book. Little Socorro was crawling around his feet towards the opened gates to the compound, he spared a moment to lift her and turn her around so that she was crawling the other direction and away from the street. 

He still had no idea if Héctor had made it. Miguel had tried, he really did. When Mamá Coco had begun to sing with him he felt his heart leap. He listened to all her stories eagerly. He even wrote them down! (And he tried extra hard to make his handwriting more legible than usual). 

But he just didn't know. 

Just couldn't know. 

He had tried a few ways. His first order of business on Día De Los Muertos had been to stop by the cemetery and see if he could find the bridge. To no success. Hoped as he might that by some miracle he would be able to see his family when he crossed over, the only people he could see were the living. He had been entertaining a thought, that just maybe by some weird affect from last years curse he would be able to see them. But he wasn't that lucky. 

He had even tried stealing an item off the ofrenda after he had finished setting it up. But no curses. Which normally would be good, one shouldn’t go seeking out getting cursed after all. But still Miguel felt a large wave of disappointment. 

A tapping on his knees drew Miguel out of his pity party. His little sister looked up at him with bright eyes and raised arms. Miguel smiled and pulled her up in to his lap. “Come on Coco.” He grinned, tickling her stomach and watching her squeal with glee. 

Her little grabby hands reached for his song book. “Hey be careful with that!” Her brother laughed while she flipped through the pages. A small piece of paper had floated out of the leafs of the book. 

Miguel snatched it before it could flutter away on the wind. Cocos hand joining his as she tugged his wrist (and the photo) down to her eye level. “It's our familia _.”  _ He smiled freeing his wrist from his sisters grasp and pointing towards the faces in the picture he had photo copied. As soon as he had fixed the photo, carefully taping back in his abuelos head, his first port of order had been to march down to the library and use his allowance to pay for use of their copy machine. He would make sure his family was never forgotten and he was not want to risk losing their photo again. It had been a minor miracle his Mamá Coco had saved the torn off part of the family picture. He wasn't sure what he would have done if all photos of Héctor had been lost forever. And he wasn't about to risk that happening again. 

“See that's Mamá Imelda. I know she looks kinda scary but actually she's really nice.” He leaned in to whisper this part as if it was a deep secret. “Don't tell her I told you, but she gives the best hugs.” 

Even though he was fairly positive his little sister didn't understand she still giggled at his words. 

“That's your great grandma Coco!” Miguel pointed to the little version of his grandmother in the photograph. “You're named after her. She's the best.” He smiled looking down at his sister. He couldn't help but think they also kind of looked alike. He made a mental note to say as much in his letters for his family next Día De Muertos. 

He'd have to include some photos too. 

(Man he really needed to start keeping a list for these things.)

“And that-” Miguel began, pointing to the last person in the photograph “is Papá Héctor!” His fingers traced over the ghost of the tear marks in the photocopy. “He's a famous musician! He sings the best songs and he's REALLY funny. He wrote the song I sing to you every night.” 

Little Coco just giggled and played with his fingers while he talked. Miguel smiled “I'll tell you a secret, even though he died a long long  _ long _ time ago, I met him last Día De Muertos.” 

Coco made an unintelligible sound. 

“No no it's true!” Miguel insisted. “See, I stole Papá Héctors guitar, well ok I didn't  _ know _ it was his guitar. I thought it was De La Cruz’s guitar….. who I thought was our great great grandfather. Don't give me that look, it was a crazy night.” He scolded, though Coco had given no look in particular at all to him. “Anyways, I got cursed! And went to the Land of the Dead! I met Papá Héctor and we had an  _ amazing _ adventure trying to get me home! We met Frida Kahlo, performed on stage, and road on Mamá Imelda's alebrije Pepita! She's this GIANT cat… panther… dragon thing. She's really cool!! Kinda scary though, sorta like Mamá Imelda come to think if it.” 

Miguel smiled and took the photo and put it back in his song book before latching it closed. “I was really hoping I'd get to see them this Día De Muertos, but I guess not.” He sighed ruffling his sisters hair. 

“Un un!” His sister gurgled pawing towards the neck of his guitar that was strung across his back. 

“Wanna hear me play?” The boy asked. 

Coco only made more grabby hands, which he took to mean a yes.

Miguel laughed and tucked his song book away in his pocket before setting his sister down next to his feet. “Ok ok if you insist!” He said with a dramatic sigh. “Hm what do you want me to play?” He asked as he twisted the knobs and plucked a few strings to test the tune. 

Coco giggled and tilted her head to the side. 

“Ah yes! Perfect idea Coco!” The musician smiled. His fingers easily found the frets and his right hand began to strum. 

“Remember me…” he began softly “though I have to say goodbye.” 

The soft sounds of the guitar carried through the air. Miguel closed his eyes as he kept strumming, feeling the music flow through his soul. He imagined his Papá Héctor by his side playing with him. 

 

_ Remember me  _

_ Don't let it make you cry _

_ For even if I'm far away I hold you in my heart  _

_ I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart.  _

 

_ Remember me _

_ Though I have to travel far _

_ Remember me  _

_ Each time you hear a sad guitar  _

 

_ Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be _

_ Until you're in my arms again  _

  
  


“Remember…. me….” His voice finished. And no he wasn't crying. 

Ok maybe he was crying a little. 

“You gotta promise not to tell anyone I cried Coco…” he laughed opening his eyes and wiping a tear away. “Coco?”

Coco was not in fact next to him like he thought she was. Instead she was quickly waddling her way out the front gate of the court yard. 

“Coco!” Miguel shouted, slinging his guitar back over his shoulder. “Socorro get back here!” 

His sister only giggled and decided this was now a game of chase, and picked up speed  in a toddlers imitation of a run. She dashed out of the front walkway and was into the street by the point Miguel began to catch up to her. 

“Coco no, come on that's not saf- COCO!” 

He heard the sound of an engine. A car rounded the corner, headlights off and going too fast. His world froze as he saw the scene play out in his head about what was about to happen. His baby sister.. The car…

Miguel didn't think. 

He jumped. 

He flew in front of the car, arm outstretched and reaching, reaching, he had to make it. Had to be close enough to reach her. The roar of the engine echoed in his ear. Pounding and pounding, so loud it drowned out the scream he felt erupt from his chest. 

His hand just barely made it as he managed to push, fingertips brushing against her back as she fell forward and away from his grasp

He watched her tumble to safety and she let out a cry when her knees hit the pavement. Miguel didn't have time to feel relief before a massive wave of pain slammed into him.

And then there was nothing. 

  
  
  
  


And then, there was something again. 

First there was the pain. 

It was everywhere, it was strong, it was horrible. 

He tried to take in a breath, only to feel like his lungs were full of water. A strong throbbing spread through his chest and up into his shoulders. His left hand felt broken, and his legs felt shattered. 

But then in the space of a breath, it faded. He willed his lungs to work as they pulled in a deep breath of air, and the pain all faded to a duller, but still present, ache throughout his body. 

Though it still felt worse in his legs and hand. 

Where… where was he?

He cracked one eye open slowly, and then the other. And then, he knew. 

He was stood alone on a bridge of bright orange flower petals.

“Oh.” The word brushed past his lips 

Instinctively he looked down to his hands, and met with the (weirdly enough kinda familiar) sight of bones. 

“Oh.” He whispered again. 

Even though he didn't have a heart, he felt like he could still feel it break. 

He was… he was… he couldn’t think the word. 

Not now. Not yet. 

The petals fell like snow from the nothingness, landing softly around him and in his hair. The bright color of the bridge the only thing cutting through the vast abyss of dark emptiness around him. 

He shuffled his feet in the flower petals, watching as they glowed faintly where he stepped. He could see that his pant legs were torn, and a quick inventory told him that his jacket and shirt weren’t in the best of shape either. His boots looked pretty good though. That’s what you get with quality Rivera family products. 

And then his heart sank again. 

His family. 

The boy sank to his knees in the petals and let out a loud sob into the blackness around him. 

His Mamá… Papá, Abuela… his tíos y tías… his cousins Abel and Rosa… he wouldn't see them again.

His sister.

Miguel clutched desperately at his chest, where his heart should be, where it wasn’t. But he could still feel it ache. He felt as if he wanted to rip it to stop the loss he was feeling. 

But he couldn’t.

He was dead. 

His breaths came heavy and quick, which felt like a bit of an oxymoron under the circumstances. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he sat there sobbing.

The road of petals lay out before him, raining down and landing to form the bridge he was on. He looked back briefly and saw only nothingness. 

He couldn’t go back. Not tonight at least. Not till Día De Los Muertos. 

God… Día De Los Muertos. Who would put up the photos? No one would know to lay out special gifts for the deceased Riveras… he wouldnt get to hold his sister and tell her about their family. 

Miguel shook his head. He couldn’t think about that right now. 

Oh he wanted to. He wanted to wallow in his self pity for a moment, to cry and cry and let his tears soak through the flowers. 

He gathered his gumption and forced himself onto his feet. That could wait. 

He fixed his eyes ahead on the marigold bridge in front of him. Carefully he held out a hand and caught one of the drifting flowers. He rubbed it between two skeltal fingers, surprised he could still feel how silky and soft it was. 

No petals infused with blessings this time. 

Miguel let go and watched the flower cascade down until it joined the rest at his feet. 

He wanted to cry… but what he wanted more, was his familia. 

His Papá Héctor. 

A realization struck him. He felt around his pocket, and sure enough, his song book was neatly tucked away. He reached down and pulled it out, quickly undoing the latch and pulled out his copy of the photograph that sat upon the ofrenda. 

Despite everything, the thought of seeing them again- his Mamá Imelda and Mamá Coco… Papá Héctor.. That thought was enough to almost make him smile. 

Almost.

He tried to force his mind to think on the good things, like playing music with his grandpa. 

Wait… 

He lifted his hand to his chest again and let his fingers feel across the guitar strap slung across him. Carefully he shifted the guitar forward, rather surprised the instrument had traveled with him into the afterlife. (even more surprised he hadn't realized it until just then too)

It looked in excellent condition, which was… a bit strange considering the state of the rest of him. Miguel silently hoped the version of the guitar in the living world had escaped unharmed too. His fingers brushed lightly across the strings and up the frets, pausing to look at how his ivory hands matched it in color and style now. He supposed his face did to. Though thankfully he was pretty positive he didn’t have a gold tooth to make the comparison complete. 

He gave a little nod for himself and swung the guitar across his back again. He squared his shoulders and grasped the guitar strap across his chest. He first took one step… and then another. As he walked the petals glowed around his feet and he left little bright footprints in his wake. He turned his head to see the petals drifting away and disappearing behind him when he moved. The bridge gradually arched downwards, and soon enough he could see a platform ahead of him, a large tiled sign with the word “ARRIVALS” written across the top. 

It was empty, save for a single booth manned by a skeleton. 

As he got closer he saw she was looking down at… a magazine? Huh. 

Well, he supposed that besides Día De Muertos it was probably pretty quiet. 

When his feet touched the stone of the platform he turned to watch the bridge evaporate behind him, petals floating up into the air in a golden swirl. 

“Oh! Oh dear!” A voice squeaked from the arrivals desk. 

Miguel turned back around and looked to the skeleton in front of him. 

“You're… a new arrival?” She asked closing her magazine and standing up, leaning over her counter to look at him.

The boy saw the look of pity in her eyes and felt an unease growing in the space where his stomach used to be. He wondered how many people were going to look at him like that. 

“Y-yeah…” he whispered, voice timid and quiet compared to usual. 

“Ay dios mío… how old are you dear?” The woman asked. 

Miguel looked up at her “Thirteen…” he said. 

The skeleton womans face sank into a devastated expression. Miguel quietly wondered how many in the Land of the Dead were like him. He understood why she looked at him that way, but he still forced his gaze away, unable to meet her eyes. 

“So young.” She sighed. She reached into her desk and pulled out a walkie talkie. “Can someone please tell Señor Fuentes I have a new arrival for him? Special circumstances.” 

“Special circumstances?” Miguel asked as soon as she had hung up the device. 

The woman nodded and closed the grate on her booth before stepping out from a little door on the side. “We don't receive many children these days, but Señor Fuentes will help us get you sorted.” She said trying to give him a reassuring smile. She offered out her hand to him. “I’m Gloria, what’s your name hijo?” 

“Miguel.” The boy said, taking her hand as she lead him through the gates of arrivals and into the station. 

It was a little noisier inside. Several skeletons were sat at different desks, fingers clacking away at a weird mix of computers and typewriters. He still remembered how his Mamá Imelda had destroyed on of their ‘devil boxes’ with her shoe. He wondered if she would do that again this time. 

Gloria lead him over to a bench outside a door. Across the top was a plaque that read ‘Arrivals Agent’. Miguel recognized it from last time he was here. 

Not many new arrivals probably got to say that. 

“Just sit here a moment alright?” The woman asked. Miguel nodded as he sat at the edge, careful not to squish his guitar against the back of the bench. 

“Señor Fuentes will be out in just a moment ok? He’ll help you sort out your papers. Do you have any family over here?” Gloria asked, kneeling down so she was at his eye level, a hand placed gently on his knee. 

“Rivera… um Héctor y Imelda Rivera.” The boy said, fingers tightening around his guitar strap. 

The woman jolted a moment. “Héctor? You’re Héctor’s boy? You’re not… oh goodness!” Gloria let out a little gasp and covered her mouth with a delicate hand. “You’re the living boy, from last year!” 

Miguel winced and nodded slowly. He had forgotten he was probably pretty well known over here. 

“Oh dear… that’s… goodness.” Gloria straightened up. “Well, just sit tight until they call you Miguel, I’ll go call your familia ok?” 

“Ok.” Miguel offered, shuffling his feet a little. 

Gloria patted him lightly on the shoulder before she hurried off, the click of her heels echoing off the wooden floor. 

The small skeleton boy dropped his shoulders as she left. He lifted his head slightly to see some of the other skeletons watching him occasionally. The looks in their eyes made him feel small.

The door to the right of him clicked open and a short skeleton with a green visor poked his head out. “Ah! You must be my new arrival! I’m Señor Fuentes.” The man said. 

Miguel looked to him and gave a slow nod. He squinted at the man, he looked familiar. 

“Well, step into my office, there’s some papers to fill out before we can get you on your way.” he said motioning for the boy to follow. 

Miguel slid off the bench and followed the man as he held the door open for him. He raised the shell of his skull as if he would raise one eyebrow (and wasn't  _ that _ an odd sensation. Weren't skulls solid? Ugh something he shouldn't be thinking about right now.) as he took in the other skeletons stature. Miguel was taller than he was. 

“You!” Miguel suddenly exclaimed, snapping his left fingers. “You’re the guy who helped me and mí familia last Día De Los Muertos!” 

“Que dises?” The man asked fumbling with his papers and looking up at the boy. 

“Yeah, my Mamá Imelda got angry at you… and you were allergic to my dog Dante.” Miguel nodded. “I was cursed and-”

“Ah! The living boy!” Fuentes exclaimed. “Oh goodness… this  _ is _ a special circumstance. Oh my well… take a seat.” he said, his expression falling. “I… didn't expect we’d see you again so soon.” he gestured towards the chair in front of his desk.

Miguel’s own expression fell as he nodded and sat down, taking his guitar off his shoulders and placing it gently next to the chair. Fuente’s moved to sit behind his desk, which was piled high with a mountain of paperwork. Some stacks of which looked awful precarious to Miguel’s eye. 

“So that brings us to our first order of business…” The man muttered as he opened up his drawer and pulled out some paper. “Unnatural death I take it?” he asked, reaching forward with his free hand to hold his pen. 

“Unnatural death?” Miguel asked tilting his head. “I um… I was hit by a car.. I think.” He focused thinking back, suddenly realizing how hazy his memory was. He remembered… pushing Socorro out of the way.. And then.. Nothing. 

Fuentes frowned and gave a solemn nod before scribbling down on the paper. “It’s pretty common to be fuzzy on the details of a traumatic death. It’ll come back to you more after a while.. Try... try not to think about it for now si?” He offered. “Lets see, full name…”

“Miguel Rivera.” 

“Right thank you.” The man nodded. “Age?”

“Thirteen.” 

Fuentes paused in his scribbling and looked up with a sullen expression. “Thirteen?” 

Miguel only nodded. 

The other skeleton took a deep breath and looked back down to his paperwork quickly scribbling in the age bracket. “Let’s see, deceased family, oh that one I know,” he mumbled whilst writing. 

Miguel answered his questions when prompted, meanwhile letting his eyes wander around the room, occasionally distracted by any alebrije flying by outside the window. 

“Ok and that’ll be just about everything.” Señor Fuentes nodded, giving the last flourish of a signature on his paperwork. “Now if you’ll sign here please.” he said, pushing his glasses back up his face and turning the paper work towards the boy. 

Miguel nodded and picked up a spare pen he saw on the desk. He looked down at the paperwork in befuddlement for a moment until the Señor pointed towards the right line. He scribbled his signature quickly and then the papers were jerked back and into Mr. Fuentes’ hands. 

“Ok and lastly here is my card.” Señor Fuentes said, placing the papers in a manila folder and snapping it shut. With his free hand he pulled a little laminated card from his breast pocket. “I’ll be your special circumstances manager from here on.”

“What’s uh.. What’s special circumstances exactly?” Miguel asked. 

Fuentes hopped off his chair and shuffled over to one of the many filing cabinets in his office. “Lets see…. R… R… R… ah here it is!” he mumbled before placing the file in its correct drawer. “Special circumstances…” he began, turning back around to Miguel and adjusting his visor. “Is for arrivals who came to us in unusual manners… traumatic deaths, especially young, or you know, previously cursed mortals who have a history in the land of the dead.”

“That’s… weirdly specific.” Miguel said tilting his head. 

Fuentes gave a small laugh. “Only for you kid. Mostly it’s people who come to us very early in their lives and from unexpected deaths. Erm young death isn’t as common as it used to be,” he offered. “We try to look out for the kids around here… we know its, well it’s not easy for anyone transitioning into the Land de Muertos, but it can be especially hard on younger souls.”

“Oh.” Miguel whispered, dropping his gaze a little. 

“Hey, hey amigo it’s ok.” Fuentes said. “It’s alright to feel sad… it’s normal after what happened. This hasn't been easy I know muchacho. But you have your family on this side for you, and if you ever need anything, and I mean  _ anything _ at all, call the number on my card comprende?”

“Like… define anything?” Miguel asked scrunching his mouth trying to think of what exactly the skeleton man could help him with. 

“If you’re having a hard time adjusting, feeling phantom pain, having issues with your living arrangements, or if you need someone to talk to.” Fuentes said shrugging his shoulders. “Like I said, anything. We’re here to help. I’d also like you to check in with me, once every two weeks to start with.” 

Miguel looked towards the card in his hand “Ok.” He mumbled, reaching for his song book and quickly slipping the card safely inside. “Thank you Señor Fuentes.” 

“Of course kid, happy to help. I’m just glad you don’t have that alebrije of yours in here this time.” he chuckled. “Where is the perrito?” 

Miguel froze. He hadn't seen Dante for several days actually… which was normal in of itself considering how the dog was constantly in and out of both realms, but now that Miguel was here… he had actually expected his dog would show up. “I… I uh don’t know actually.” 

Fuentes offered a smile. “Ah don’t worry too much, where the skeleton is the alebrije isn’t far. He’ll turn up soon I’m sure.” He clapped his hands together and looked towards the watch on his wrist. “Now, let’s get you to your familia… let’s see…. Gloria!” He called whilst poking his head out the door. “Any update on the Rivera’s?” 

Miguel followed the short skeleton to the door and looked over his head at the rest of the office. 

Gloria, the skeleton woman from earlier, shook her head as she put down the phone she had been holding. “Not yet, I’ve called several times and left a message with someone. If you want to wait Miguel, they’ll come by soon. There’s a reunions section just outside by the front doors.” 

“Ok.” Miguel said. “Gracias por todo, Señor Fuentes… Señora.” He brushed passed the skeleton man and followed his pointing finger towards the front doors. 

“No problemo kiddo, I’m sure your familia will be here soon for you.” The man nodded at him with a smile

Gloria stood up from her desk and walked over towards him. “Here, I’ll show you outside.” She offered, leading him towards the doors of the station. 

“If you’ll just wait out here niño, your family will meet you here ok?” 

“Ok.” Miguel nodded sitting down on one of the many steps leading up towards the stations entrance. “Gracia’s Señora.” he said with a little nod. 

“De nada.” She said, a whisper of a smile on her lips as she offered one last pat to his shoulder before returning inside. 

And so, Miguel waited. 

But no one came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally didnt realize like 8 hours after posting the chapter that I forgot the ending notes- 
> 
> But next time- 
> 
> Dante is a good boy.


	3. A Good Boy

Dante was a Good Boy. 

He knew he was a Good Boy, because his boy, Miguel, told him so. 

Sure, there was that one time last year on their adventure when Miguel had yelled at him. But then Dante had lead the nice kitty Pepita (who was now his friend!) to his boy! Which was good! Even though it involved the scary lady with the boot, who was also good! But scary! 

And he had helped save his boy when the Evil Mariachi had threatened Miguel’s life. ( _ No one _ threatens His Boy!) 

So, things were good now. He was many bright colors, he had a new big kitty friend who was very good at taking naps together with him, his boy was happy, and he had not one, but  _ two _ homes. And both smelled like shoes! 

So, Dante was happy. 

He spent a lot of his time in the living world. After all he had to keep a careful eye on his boy (who had a habit for trouble). But lately he spent a lot of time napping with Pepita, and chasing after Rosita’s cooking, or playing his favorite game, stealing Héctors leg! (Héctor was not as fond of this game as Dante was, there was usually a lot of shouting involved.) 

But he was still always vigilant. After all, he was an alebrije now! That came with cool things, like wings! And responsibilities! Responsibilities like keeping His Boy safe! 

So he was very surprised, and very worried, when he suddenly felt like something was wrong. 

As soon as he felt it his head had snapped up from where it had been resting on Pepita’s leg. He knew something was wrong. Something was wrong with Miguel!    


In a quick dash of movement he was on his feet and moving, his big kitty friend making confused sounds behind him as he ran. 

“Eh? Dante? Que pasa- ay!” Héctor screamed as Dante bowled over him, sending his bones scattered everywhere, eaving the man a pile of bones behind him. “Dante!” He called angrily. 

But Dante had no time for that! He had to get to the Land of the Living, and to Miguel! 

It did not take him long to find a pocket in the dimension to slip into as he zoomed along, quickly emerging in the living world back into his xolo dog form. 

He raced through the streets, towards the house that smelled like leather and shoes and-

He smelled him! He smelled his boy! And- oh no.

Dante came to a screeching halt as he rounded the corner to the house. 

His boy was laying in the street, the littlest human of the family was crying in a woman’s arms. And there was red stuff all around Miguel. It smelled like blood. Dante did not have to smell the body to know that it was no longer Miguel. He gave a small whine as he stepped forward, nosing at the boys face. His soul was no longer there. Dante let out a small cry.

But! He knew where His Boy would be! And oh, how he needed to get to him! He knew his Miguel was hurt, and very sad. He couldn’t let him be alone! 

He was an alebrije, and the job of an alebrije was to guide spirits! So he would find His Boy and guide his spirit! As he zoomed back to the Land of the Dead he knew what he had to do! He had to find Héctor! Héctor could help Miguel! 

He knew the way home, and ran back into the house as soon as it came into sight.

“Ay! Dante! Espera- Dante!” Héctor cried as soon as the dog burst through the door. “What has gotten into you today?!” 

Dante started yapping! He needed to bring Héctor to Miguel! Maybe if he barked enough that would do it. 

“Oh dios mio- somebody make that dog stop!” Imelda groaned, putting down the shoe she was working on and marching over to Dante. “Dejes!” She yelled trying to shoo him off. The phone started to ring but the noise was all but drowned out in the commotion. 

Dante kept barking, couldn't they understand he needed to take them to Miguel? He started to run around the workshop, trying to get their attention. 

“Ay!” The twins yelped, jumping out of the way of the dog on a rampage. 

“That’s it- Héctor! Grab him!” Victoria commanded.

“Me?! Why me?” Héctor yelped as he lunged for the dog, only to miss and crash on the floor. 

“Well he listens to you- ai mierda!” Victoria reached for Dante, fingers briefly nabbing his tail before he wiggled free. “That mutt!” 

“What has ever given you the impression that he listens to me?” The man demanded, propping himself back up and reattaching his femur before spinning his head back around so it sat straight again.

Amidst the chaos of skeletons chasing an alebrije, the phone began to ring again. 

“Mi cabeza…. Alguin, get the telefono! Héctor are you even TRYING to catch this dog?!” Imelda groaned. 

Julio fumbled for the phone and just barely managed to catch it in time. “Hola-”

“Oh finally! Is this the Rivera residence?” A voice mumbled from the other end.

“Ah, si.” Julio nodded. “Ay chihuahua!” He just managed to dodge the chase going on around him. 

“Is Señor Héctor available?” The voice asked. “I have an urgent message for him from the department of family reunions.” 

That last bit however, had been drowned out in the chaos as Dante had bowled right into Julio sending the phone flying. 

Dante kept barking, but was quickly realizing that this current plan of attack was not sufficient in getting their attention. 

So he went with another plan. 

If he couldn’t get them to understand, he would just TAKE Héctor to Miguel. 

This was a brilliant plan. 

Julio had managed to get back the phone again “Um, lo siento Héctor is- oh dios.”

Dante wasted no time in sinking his teeth into Héctor’s left leg, causing the skeleton to let out a loud cry. 

“Ah! Mi pierna! Dejes lo you crazy mutt!” he yelled, removing his hat to attempt swatting the dog off with it as Dante began to pull. “Don’t you dare-”

Dante was so pleased with himself as he began to drag the funny skeleton man towards the door. Yes! He would get Héctor to Miguel this way!

Or not.

As a loud pop echoed the musicians leg popped right off, leaving Dante with only part of the skeleton man. 

If Dante was a human, and possessed the vocal cords to do so, he would have been very vocally upset about this whole affair. 

This was not going according to plan. 

“Please? Sir? Can you please inform Señor Héctor Rivera to come down to reunion station urgently? We have a new arrival-” a voice from the phone spoke, the words falling on deaf ears as it swung from the cord unattended. 

“Julio! El telefono!” Rosita yelled as Imelda began chasing Dante around the room, brandishing her boot. 

“Ay! Ay si si!” Julio exclaimed grabbing the phone again, unsure of what exactly he was saying ‘si’ to. “Ok yes si thank you very much- we have to go now!” 

“Yes! Thank you very much-”

The phone went abruptly silent as Dante tumbled and caught the telephone cord in his fall, snapping it from the phone. 

“That is it!” Imelda cried. 

Dante saw his target, he may not be able to drag Héctor! But! All the skeletons who smelled like shoes were chasing him now! If he could just get them to chase him all the way to Miguel! Yes! Yes this would work! He just needed to get to the door! 

He abruptly changed directions, swiveling on his hind legs and bolted the other way. 

“The door! Don’t let him get away with my leg!” Héctor yelled, precariously balancing on his one intact limb and hopping forwards. 

Dante looked behind him, yes! Good! They were still following him! Just through the door and-

Pepita blocked the doorway and let out a roar, making Dante yelp and freeze in his tracks.

“Good girl Pepita.” Imelda called as she took the chance of surprise and snatched Héctor’s leg back. 

Before he knew it, Dante had been grabbed by the scruff and hauled up to eye level by the fierce skeleton lady. 

“And you!” She yelled, pointing at him with the bone she had just retrieved. “You are officially banned from this house for at least a month!” 

“Diosa… can I… can I have my leg back?”

“I’m using it!” Imelda yelled. “No more! You go back to the Land of the Living, to Miguel, and think about what you’ve done!” 

“Imelda, come now-” Héctor tried, reaching for his leg only to be nearly smacked with it as Imelda spread her arms.

“No! I’ve had enough chaos in my house for one day! We have a big order of shoes to fill, there’s no time for this nonsense.” She said, shooing Pepita aside so she could carry Dante out through the courtyard to the front gate. 

“One month!” She scolded giving him one last glare before plopping him down outside the property. “Pepita- make sure he stays out comprende?” 

Dante looked towards Pepita with a whimper. Surely she understood? He was just trying to help his boy! 

Pepita only huffed at him and sat down, guarding the gate. 

Dante hung his head. Fine! If Héctor wouldn't help Miguel, then Dante would! Because Dante was a Good Boy! And Good Boys didn't leave their boys alone in the Land of the Dead. 

It took him longer than he would have liked to find Miguel. Dante attributed this to the fact that he didn’t smell  _ quite _ the same as he used to. But! He could still smell him! So Dante listened to his nose! And his nose told him to go to the station! 

When he got to the station it was very late indeed. The sun had long since set and not many of the skeleton people were about. 

But Dante saw one skeleton, he was small with a red hoodie and ripped jeans. A white guitar was across his back and he was curled up in a little ball on the steps, hugging his legs close and head buried in his knees. Dante knew him! Dante would know his Miguel anywhere!

He let out a loud yap and saw the child's head snap up to attention. “D-Dante?” 

Oh no! Dante paused as he looked at his boys face! Tears! His boy had been crying! This would not do! 

Dante bolted forward and crashed into the skeleton, licking away the streaks of water. No! No tears on his watch! No sir! 

“Dante! Dante stop!” Miguel laughed, pulling the dog close into a hug despite his words. “Come on that’s enough!

Once the dog had deemed his cleaning job sufficient he settled for just nuzzling at Miguel's neck. Oh, how his boy was one of the skeleton people now! Was he not a Good Boy? He hadn't been able to save Miguel in time. He whimpered and rested his nose on the little skeletons shoulder. 

He hadn't even made it in time to help His Boy cross the bridge. 

“Hey it’s ok buddy.” Miguel said softly, bony hand stroking down the dog’s back. “I know you would have saved me if you could.”

Dante whimpered and nuzzled harder. 

“It’s… it’s ok. You’re a good boy Dante.” The little skeleton cried, hiding his face in the dogs fur, or lack thereof. 

“I don’t know what to do Dante.” Miguel sighed. “They… they never came. Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor didn’t come to get me.” 

The alebrije sensed another tear and whined, bopping his nose against where the skeletons nose used to be. 

“I’m scared Dante. I don’t know where to go if they don’t want me…”

Dante gave a small huff. Well, if Miguel thought he was a Good Boy, then he was a Good Boy. 

And Good Boy’s guided their charges spirits! So that’s what he would do. 

He looked up and huffed. 

Should he take Miguel to the house that smells like shoes? 

But the scary skeleton lady with the boot had made it clear he wasn’t allowed back, at least for now. Hm. 

Ah! He knew! He knew a place where Miguel could sleep safe tonight! 

He jumped up and started to run little circles. 

“You… want me to follow you?” Miguel asked looking uncertain.

Dante yapped! Yes! Yes! That was exactly what he wanted! Oh His Boy was so smart! 

“Ok.” Miguel said, staggering to his feet and gripping his guitar strap. 

The alebrije barked happily and ran one last tight circle before taking off in the right direction, looking over his shoulder every so often to make sure that His Boy was following him. He slowed his pace when he saw Miguel stumble a few times, and instead walked besides him. Giving a little circle and herding him in the right direction every so often. 

Dante barked and ran a circle around him before trotting off in direction of Shantytown. 

Yes! He was a good alebrije! And he would keep His Boy safe!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously loved writing as Dante. 
> 
> Next time: Familiar place and new faces


	4. Shantytown

**** Miguel was fairly positive that the set of rickety steps before him were distinctly not safe. Between a combination of overuse and lack of upkeep, the wooden planks leading down into the darkness were falling apart in places. Much of the wood looked like it wouldn't even take the weight of a skeleton as small as a child. 

“Wait I know where we are…” He whispered, squinting into the darkness down at the path emerging from the end of the stairs. He remembered his Papá Héctor leading him here, remembered how he had jumped off the ledge to down below, pulling himself back together when his bones scattered. Dante seemed to follow this previous example as the alebrije leaped down, fluttering his florecently colored wings to slow his decent. 

Miguel frowned and ran his thumb across his guitar strap. He didn't want to risk breaking his instrument, it had already survived crossing over with him, he wasn't eager to push his luck. “Ok Dante, if you think it’s a good idea.” He said taking slow and careful steps down the stairs, pausing at each one to feel carefully with his foot to make sure it was sturdy enough to hold his weight. 

It took him much longer than Dante to reach the bottom. Dante seemed to fill this time with pacing back and forth and barking encouragingly at him. 

When the boys foot finally hit solid ground again he felt a sigh of relief. His shoulders released the tension he hadn't even realized he’d been holding onto. “Ok ok where to next?” he asked looking towards the xolo. 

The dog barked and started trotting off down the path, circling several times to indicate that Miguel was to follow.

Down the path the lights of Shanty town gave a warm glow, it looked like an oasis in the darkness. 

Miguel could make out the outline of shacks, and just faintly heard the sounds of music and talking as he approached. If he still had skin, he was fairly sure he would have goosebumps right now. He had been here once before, and he knew that Papá Héctor had deemed it safe. He remembered how the other skeletons were all nice, called each other ‘primo’ and ‘prima’, ‘tío’ y ‘tía’. 

And if Dante thought it was where he would be safe, well then he trusted Dante. 

Besides, no one had come to pick him up. Miguel felt a stabbing at his phantom heart at the thought. He had waited for hours alone on those steps. He had waited until the sun had fully set, and the street lights had turned on. He had waited as the crowds had thinned to nothing when the night wore on. 

And still no one came for him. 

Did they not know he was there? The Señora, Gloria, had said she had called them, that they said they were on their way. And yet, Miguel had waited, alone and scared by himself on the cold steps of Reunion Station. 

His heart sank further as the thoughts swirled around in his head. He could feel the beginnings of tears already. But no, he wouldn't cry again. He rubbed away the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. He had to keep going. Had to keep moving.

So he would follow Dante. Dante was his spirit guide right? Last time he was in the Land of the Dead, the alebrije had steered him in the right direction. And maybe… maybe if Dante wasn’t taking him to his Papá Héctor, that wasn't where he was meant to be. 

The dog gave a small yip when he turned to see Miguel had paused and stopped following him. 

Miguel held up his hands. “Alright I’m coming don’t worry,” he said, picking up the pace and dashing towards his dog. 

The voices got louder the closer he got, and soon the child found himself walking along the worn down pathways of the makeshift neighborhood. The sweet melody of music drew him forward as he followed the sound. He didn’t recognize the tune, but he could pick out the gentle hum of a violin and soft singing. 

He couldn't help but look around as he walked. All the ‘houses’ (if they could be called as such, they were more shacks really) were pretty close to falling apart. Haphazard planks of wood cobbled together to make a dwelling. The walkway wasn't much better. It didn’t take long before Miguel’s foot caught one of the many holes and he tumbled forward. He gave a yelp and felt… something pop off as he crashed into the wood. 

The music came to a halt. “Oy! Is someone there?” A voice called. There were several murmurs following it and Miguel heard the shuffling of feet against wood. The steps grew closer and a small gasp came from somewhere above him.

“Oh goodness! It’s a chico!” A woman whispered, her breath hitched on the last word and Miguel felt his stomach drop. 

He looked up to see several skeletons peering down at him, all wearing expressions of concern mixed with pity. His eyes shifted to each figure. A couple of them looked vaguely familiar, he thought perhaps he had met one or two of them before. But it was hard to remember everyone he had run into that night over a year ago. 

“Hey little buddy, you alright?” One of them, a man who looked to be somewhere in his twenties, asked. 

Miguel nodded and pushed up on his arms- well arm. As he quickly realized the other was lost somewhere. “Oh no!” he cried looking around for it, scanning frantically in the darkness for the missing limb. “My arm!” 

“And your leg too chico.” One of the woman said with a soft laugh. “Come on, pull yourself back together and we’ll help you up.”

The small skeleton gulped. “I uh…” He mumbled casting his eyes downwards. “I don't know how.”

“Dont know- oh dear.” The woman sighed. “You must be a fresh arrival.” 

“Yeah.” Miguel whispered. 

“It’s not so hard.” The man spoke, setting down his violin. He grasped one wrist around the other and pulled his left arm off at the elbow. “All you gotta do, is try to remember well… having arms. Try picturing yourself holding something.” He said, closing his eyes to concentrate for a moment. Then like magic his arm pulled itself back into its socket. “Here, you try.”

The boy nodded and closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate, to think about what it felt to hold something. He struggled, trying to think, before he landed on the idea of holding his guitar, of his fingers flying across the frets. Then there was a small ‘click’ and he felt something pop back into place.

“There you go! That’s the ticket!” One of the girls cooed. “Now try the same with your leg, try to imagine what it felt like to walk and it’ll come right back.”

“O-okay.” Miguel said, voice a little louder as he kept his eyes closed. Picturing himself walking down the plaza in Santa Cecilia- and then pop! 

“Stupendo chico!” The violinist laughed. “Now then, let’s get you some place to sit down ya? Bet you’ve had quite a day.” 

“Sí… that would be nice.” Miguel nodded, pushing himself off the ground, for real this time, only to feel a hand at his side helping him up. He looked towards the source to see one of the skeleton woman smiling. “Gracias.” 

“Of course hijo.” She smiled patting him on the head. “Come, why don’t you tell us what brings you down here hm?”

The man who had helped him picked up his violin and motioned with his head down the path to where a small grouping of barrels and boxes were gathered around a makeshift table (that was really just a wood slab over another barrel) and tiny electric lights strung amongst the leaning broken lamp posts. 

“Here sit yourself down chico.” The woman smiled, guiding him by his shoulders towards one of the barrels, letting him sit down. “What’s your name?” 

“I’m Miguel.” The boy answered, fingers playing idly with the strap of his guitar. “And uh, this is Dante- he’s my dog… um, alebrije.” 

“Nice to meet you Miguel.” The woman smiled holding out her hand for him to shake it. “I’m Amelia.”

Miguel tentatively shook her hand and smiled before pulling his hand back. “You too.”

“This here is Tío Marco.” She said gesturing towards the violinist. “And Tía Julieta, and Prima Posada.” 

They all echoed small ‘holas’ and ‘mucho gusto’. Miguel diligently nodded and followed Amelia’s gesturing as she rattled off the names. 

“So how long have you been here chico?” Tío Marco asked 

“Um, a few hours? Ten maybe?” He shrugged. “I don't… really remember. I was waiting at the station for my family… but they uh.. They never came.”

The grouping of skeletons all grew quiet and Marco gave a solemn nod. “Then we understand why you’re alebrije led you down here niño.” 

“You… you do?” Miguel asked. 

“Claro.” Julieta nodded. “We here, were all the same. We have no family in the Land of the Dead, so, we became each others family.”

Ah, now this Miguel remembered. “I, I do um have a family. But I don't know… I…” he paused looking down at his feet. “I’m just waiting for them to find me I guess.” 

Two of the woman, Julieta and Posada, exchanged a look and then gave a firm nod. “Of course mijo.” Tía Posada said. “And we’ll help you find them. Until then, you’re welcome to stay here.”

Miguel looked up at them. “Really?”

“Por supuesto!” Amelia smiled. “Down here, we are each other's family. That’s why we all call each other ‘tío’ or ‘tía, and ‘primo’. We look after each other. And we can help look after you too.” 

Tío Marco nodded. “Sí niño. You’re welcome here as long as you wish.” He smiled. “Amelia, do we have any place that’s unoccupied around here?” 

Amelia thought for a moment, taping her finger against her lips. “Hmm… ah, we have space.” She gave a low smile and cast her eyes downwards. “Since Prima Carla left us.”

There was some solemn looks around the circle. And Miguel knew what it was they all weren’t saying.

The final death. 

He gulped. 

Dante gave a small whine and rested his head on the boys knees. Miguel paused and lightly scratched behind his ears. “It’s alright buddy,” he whispered.

“Sí… Carla’s old place is open.” Julieta said. “Are you tired mijo?” She asked tilting her head. 

Miguel paused and thought a moment. “Um… a little. Do skeletons uh have to sleep?” 

They all gave a little laugh around the table. “Well they don’t  _ have to _ .” Posada said. “But it does feel much better to, same goes for eating and drinking.” 

The boy gave another nod. “Hey um…” he murmured looking towards Marco. “Was that you, playing the violin?” 

Marco gave a smile and nodded. “Sí. You a musician too kid?” He asked with a grin. 

Miguel nodded eagerly. “How’d you know?” 

The others all laughed. “Well the guitar on your back kinda gave it a way.” Amelia teased. 

“Oh, heh, yeah.” The small skeleton smiled rubbing the back of his head and shifting his guitar around. 

“Ohhh you a De La Cruz fan chico?” Posada asked. “Nice replica.”

“Oh um… I was… but uh not really, anymore.” He said. “He’s not… around is he?” 

“De La Cruz? Ay you wouldn't know would you?” Marco sighed. “Right, a couple Día De Muertos ago, here in the Land of the Dead, this living boy showed up! No one really knows everything that happened, but De la Cruz tried to murder him!” 

“Threw him right off the top of a tower!” Amelia sighed. “We were all so shocked! Well since then De La Cruz has gone underground. Nobody has really seen him much since!”

“Mmm I know Maria saw him on the streets the other week, apparently he’s not taken the fall from grace super well.” Posada shrugged.

“Wow.” Miguel gulped, trying to control his fidgeting. “That’s… pretty big.” 

The others all nodded. “The boy lived though! He’s back in the living realm now we suppose.” Marco shrugged. “But either way, De La Cruz was ruined. Turns out he didn’t even write his own songs.” 

“It’s ok chico.” Amelia said giving him a nudge. “Your guitar is still pretty cool.” 

“T-thanks.” Miguel said forcing a smile, suddenly very glad he was probably not super recognizable from last year. But it was good to know that De La Cruz was no where where he could find him. 

Without even realizing it Miguel had started to pluck at the strings of his guitar, strumming a soft melody he had been working on for a while. 

“Hey that’s not bad chico!” Marco smiled, pulling out his violin. He paused, listening to the music and tapping along with his foot. “Sí… sí.” He smiled before gently drawing the bow across the strings, his fingers floating across the neck of the instrument. 

Miguel couldn’t help but smile as he heard the accompaniment. 

The other skeletons around the circle grinned and Amelia leaned forward, propping her elbows up on the table and resting her head on her palm. “Magnífico niños.”

“You’re not bad kid.” Marco nodded, still playing quietly, pausing every now and again to listen to Miguel's melody. 

“Thanks.” The boy said. “I’ve played since I was little. I taught myself how while watching old movies.” Though he was careful not to say  _ whose _ movies. 

He felt a smile play across his lips as his fingers brushed against the strings. Maybe… maybe he wasn't playing with Héctor. But at least he was still playing, right? 

Dante wagged his tail excitedly and gave a loud howl to the music, getting a chuckle out of all the others and Miguel had to stop playing to laugh and scratch behind his ears again. 

“There will be time for music later muchacho.” Julieta whispered standing up. “Here, Tía Carla’s old place is right next to mine. I’ll take you over there si?” 

Miguel nodded and shuffled to his feet, shifting his guitar so it hung across his back again. “Ok… yeah ok that sounds good.” He said. 

“Bueno.” Amelia said, clapping her hands together. “Julieta take him over there and see he gets to bed hm? I’ll ask around, see if we can't gather together some supplies for the little muchacho.” 

“Sí. Buenas noches Miguel, we’ll see you tomorrow and see if we can't get that song going again hm?” Marco smiled, reaching a hand out to lightly ruffle the boys hair. 

“Sí. Buenas noches.” The smaller skeleton echoed before darting off to follow Julieta down the pathway. 

They didn’t have to walk far, Shantytown wasn’t the largest of places and it seemed his new sleep quarters were fairly close to the center of the makeshift neighborhood. 

The woman paused outside one of the shacks. “Here we are! I’m afraid it’s not much, but well...” she shrugged “none of us really have much down here.” she gave a sad smile. 

Miguel looked upon the shack. She wasn’t exaggerating about the ‘not much’ bit. It was small, looked just barely big enough to house one person. It looked like a small breath of wind would be all it would take to send the whole thing toppling over. But still. It was better than nothing. 

The boy turned ready to say his thanks when he caught the skeleton woman staring at him. He paused “Um…. is everything alright?” He asked. 

Her dark brown eyes carried a weight of sadness as she sighed. “It’s nothing chico. It’s just not often we see ones so young here.” she whispered. The unspoken tragedy behind the existence of a young skeleton hung in the air. “Will you be alright on your own tonight?” She asked softly. 

Miguel hesitated and gave a little nod before hanging his head. “I’ll be… I’ll be fine.” he mumbled, trying to mask the sadness that was starting to take hold now that the music and atmosphere of the night had died down. 

“If you’re sure muchacho.” Julieta said with a tiny smile. “I’ll be right next door if you need me, comprendes?” 

“Si,” Miguel said with another nod. 

The woman offered one last smile before shuffling off to her own tiny abode. 

And then, Miguel was alone.    


Well, not quiet. As Dante reminded him by nuzzling at the palm of his hand. 

Inside the shack was not too much better than outside as it turned out. It reminded Miguel of Chicharron’s home. However while the grumpy old skeletons house had been stuffed with junk, this place was empty save for a single hammock strung across the back. 

There was no back wall, instead the hammock was tied to two posts and Miguel could see the moon and the lights from the city faintly shining down. 

Miguel slowly walked towards the ledge of the back of the shack, and sat down quietly, staring up at the moon. 

As he watched the city lights, he wondered about his family, about his Mamá Imelda, Héctor, Rositta, Victoria, Julio, the Twins. He thought of all of them, and wondered if they were thinking of him. He quickly shuffled around his pockets till he found his song book and pulled it free. Gently he took the picture of his great great grandparents. He traced his fingers lightly over the figures, wondering why they hadn't come for him. They were family, they were supposed to be there. He held the paper to his chest where his heart would be if it was still there. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

He wanted things to be normal. He wished that when he opened his eyes again he would be back home with his family. 

But when he opened his eyes again, he was still there, sat alone in a shack at the edge of Shantytown. He slowly pulled the picture away from his chest and stared down at it. He sighed and carefully folded it back up again before stuffing it into the songbook once more.

With shaking hands he pulled his guitar into his lap. He hesitated with his fingers on the frets. 

All alone, the thoughts he had been trying so hard to banish were trickling in….

His living family… Mamá, Papá, Abuelita… Soccoro. Who would sing her her lullaby tonight? 

His right hand found the strings and strummed softly.

“Remember me…. Though I have to say goodbye.”

And if Miguel cried that night, well only the moon and Dante were there to witness it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, 
> 
> every one remembers a good villain!


	5. An Idea

Ernesto De La Cruz was not having a great after life. He  _ had _ been having a marvelous afterlife, up until one year ago. Turns out one little brat and his family could cause a lot more trouble than previously expected. 

In the weeks he had spent trapped under that blasted bell, contemplating his future, he had come to one realization. Héctor and his family had to pay. 

Perhaps it was petty to want revenge on someone you already murdered, but weeks stuck under your worst nightmare will do that to you. 

A part of him had feared he would be forgotten, befall the same fate his once partner in music nearly suffered from. But he was quickly reminded that infamy, much like fame, would leave him remembered for eons to come. 

The key difference however was now he no longer had his glorious tower, and he was banned from crossing the bridge to the living world on Día De Muertos. He had found this out when he had attempted to cross this last year only to be apprehended by the crossing guards. 

It had been a rather embarrassing affair to say the least. 

Evidently he was not allowed with in a certain distance of Miguel, which while the boy was alive encompassed the whole blasted living world. And so he had spent the holiday as he had spent many days over the last year, alone in the slums. Nobody for company besides a bottle of tequila and his little chihuahua alebrijes. It had become a daily routine. 

But then, something curious happened. 

He had spent that morning like all the others, about half drunk on the streets. He had been working himself up to eventually rolling out of bed (if a torn up hammock could be called a bed) and roaming the streets feeling pathetic for himself, the usual. This riveting plan for the day was rudely interrupted by the sound of a bell, making him flinch and jump out of his stupor. A bird alebrije with a bell across its neck and a small mailbag had landed on a turned over box Ernesto pretended was a bedside table.

“Go away.” Ernesto grumbled, wiping the slight bit of drool from last night off his lips. 

The bird however only blinked at him and tilted its head before reaching into a bag it had slung across its neck, and pulling out a sealed envelope. 

The singer stared at the envelope for a moment before taking it from the creature. As soon as the letter was in hand the alebrije let out (an all together much too loud) caw and flew off. 

Ernesto groaned and rubbed at where his ears had once been. He may no longer actually have ears, but it turns out loud sounds still hurt the night after getting friendly with three bottles of wine by yourself. 

With a grunt he tore the top of the envelope off and discarded the rippings onto the ground. The letter was typed up, and from the legal department. 

‘Great.’ he thought internally, rolling his eyes. All he needed was more bureaucracy. Taking his tower, his piles of offerings, money, status, and fame wasn’t enough. Now they wanted more it seems.

But as his eyes gazed across the writing, slowly his expression changed and his eyebrow began to raise. Well, this was interesting. 

  
  


Dear Señor De La Cruz, 

 

The conditions of the restraining order against you that prohibits you from contacting or being near one Miguel Rivera has changed. As of July 25th Miguel Rivera has entered the Land of the Dead as a recently deceased. It is per court order under legislation 34 B, that you are to remain a minimum distance of 1000 feet from Rivera at all times. 

Should you be found in violation of this order, extreme measures will be taken. This is a zero strike policy.

Sincerely

Department of Family Reunions

Señor Fuentes

Ernesto felt a grin begin across his face. 

Oh yes. This was interesting news indeed. 

Ernesto crumpled up the letter and tossed it behind him. He was not entirely sure what ‘extreme measures’ entailed, but he also didn’t entirely care. 

No. Miguel was in the Land of the Dead now, and Ernesto fully intended to give him a warm welcome. 

It was with that thought that he set out in the direction of the Rivera house hold. He knew very well where it was, had to in fact, to keep said distance from Héctor and the rest of the Rivera’s. 

The Rivera family compound was in a fairly decent part of town, residential but close to the market area. An iron gate protected the courtyard and entrance of the compound, whose perimeter was built of several of the adobe structures that housed its residents. ‘River Zapatos’ was painted in a faded maroon on the clay. As he approached it Ernesto felt a strong scowl spread across his face. It wasn't grand in nature, but it reminded him bitterly of his own lack luster living conditions in comparison. He had begun to roll up his sleeves and was prepared to storm through the courtyard gate when a voice interrupted him. 

“Ernesto?” 

De La Cruz swiveled around to meet eyes with a familiar face. 

“Héctor.” He spat. “Just who I was coming to see.” 

Héctor frowned and put his hands on his hips. He had changed much in a year. His bones were still a yellowish color, as they likely would be for the rest of his afterlife. But his clothes had clearly been repaired or in some cases replaced all together. “You know very well you’re not allowed anywhere near me, or my family.” The man yelled. “What do you think you’re doing.” 

“Just paying an old friend a visit.” Ernesto said, smoothing back his hair and adopting a menacing smile. “So, where is your little  _ chamaco _ eh?” There was no sign of the boy, which was a bit of a surprise since Cruz had expected Miguel to be attached to Héctor like glue. 

Héctor's thunderous look darkened. “I don't know, at home with his living family I would imagine.” he said. “No where you can reach him.” 

“At home-” Ernesto began before he paused. “Wait… with his living family?” 

The lankier skeleton rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Is this what you’ve been reduced to now? Just coming to annoy me? Yes he’s at home, he managed to survive his night here and get back despite your several attempts to  _ murder _ him.”

“Murder is such a strong word.” Ernesto sighed. 

“You dropped him off a building.”

“Semantics.” The musico shrugged. “So… you haven't seen Miguel since that night?” 

“Semantics mi pie...Why do you even care?” Héctor demanded. 

“Just… curious... “ Ernesto said, beginning to realize the interesting situation he found himself in. “So, have you seen him?” 

“If you must know, I saw him when I crossed over at Día De Muertos,” Héctor said, momentarily forgetting his anger at his ex-friend and smiling. “He was playing beautiful music on my old guitar.”

“How wonderful for you.” Ernesto said, unable to suppress rolling his eyes. Héctor always was a mushy one for the whole ‘family’ business. An ailment Ernesto had never been able to cure the man of despite his attempts. “I bet you just can’t wait to see him here again.” 

Héctor's face fell. “Díos no, not for a long long time I hope.” he shuddered. “And, when he  _ does _ eventually join us here in the Land of the Dead, you can bet I will do everything in my power to keep him well away from you. Now, get out of here.” He spat. “And if I ever see you near here again, I won't hesitate to let Imelda go after you with her shoe.”

“That will not be necessary my old friend.” Ernesto said, hands raised in peace at Héctors growing scowl. “I’ll leave you in peace… somethings just come up anyhow and I must see to some… business.” he smiled. “Hasta luego my old friend.” 

“Hasta never you mean.” Héctor yelled back, voice echoing down the street as Ernesto took his leave. 

So, Héctor didn't know Miguel was dead. 

This was very interesting indeed.

He pondered this information the whole way home. Certain there was a way he could use it to his advantage. Benign curiosity aside on how the child had been dead for a day already and his family wasn't even aware. Perhaps the fates were smiling on Ernesto after all. 

And far be it from Ernesto De La Cruz to not seize a moment like this when it fell right into his lap.

When he returned to his tiny ramshackle home his four little chihuahuas instantly started yapping and running about his feet. “Calmanse mis pequenitos.” The man chided, picking up the smallest one ‘Gidget’ from where she was barking at his ankles. 

He stroked her bright green fur softly while pondering his options. 

Surely it couldn't be so hard as to find one small child. 

And then… what? Kill him? He’d tried that, and so far that hadn't really worked out in his favor. That, and it was much harder, nigh impossible, to kill someone who was already dead. And there was no chance that the child would be forgotten any time soon. So that ruled out the final death. 

No, he would have to get creative. 

The three dogs continued to yip and bark about his feet, Gidget nuzzling into his hand while he pondered. 

Ah, at least his alebrije’s still liked him- 

And then. An idea. 

He smiled.

 

Ernesto got an awful, brilliant idea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I would say a rather interesting one. 
> 
> Next time, adjusting to a new life, or well, afterlife.


	6. Huevos Rancheros

When Miguel woke the next morning it was to the soft sound of knocking upon his door. 

“Mmm?” He mumbled, shifting in his hammock. Dante gave a soft groan when they moved, followed by a snuffle and long sigh as he laid his head back down on Miguel. 

When had he fallen asleep with Dante in his arms? Since when would Abuelita allow Dante in the house- oh.

Right.

He slowly cracked one eye open. The sight of his bony hands clutching his florcently colored alebrije brought it all back. 

Dead.

The word stung, it felt like it was heavy in his gut. 

He was dead. 

“Muchacho?” A voice called from beyond the door. 

Slowly his memory of yesterday pieced back together…. Shantytown, The Department of Family Reunions, the bridge, the car. 

He took in a sharp breath. 

Don’t think about the car. 

Don’t think about it. 

He kept repeating the mantra in his head. He wasn't ready to think about it yet. He wasn't sure he’d ever be ready honestly. But right now? Nope. He was not going down that path. 

“Muchacho are you awake?” The voice called again. “I’m going to open the door ok?”

Miguel bolted up right in his hammock. “Espera- !” He began, before the sudden movement sent the whole thing swinging and he toppled over onto the floor face first. 

“Oh goodness.” Amelia laughed when she entered the shack and caught sight of the little skeleton, one leg still tangled up in the hammock, sweatshirt riding down and covering his bed head as he groaned on the floor. “That’s one way to wake up.”

Miguel only grumbled while Dante tried to free himself from the tangled up hammock. “Here hold still” Amelia laughed, untangling his foot from the cloths hold. As soon as it was free the boys legs joined the rest of him on the floor with a ‘thunk’. “Come on chico, I bet you’re a little hungry sí?” 

The boy lifted his head “Um, I guess a little.” He shrugged, not entirely sure how his stomach worked here. Considering he no longer had a stomach. 

Amelia put her hands on her hips and motioned with her head for him to follow. “Come on then, you can have breakfast with me and Marco.” 

Miguel shuffled to his feet. “Dante come on!” He urged, helping the dog right himself from the makeshift bed. 

Much to his surprise, even without a nose, he could still smell. And currently, he smelled eggs… not just eggs. “Is that.. Huevos rancheros?” He asked following after Amelia, trying not to get caught up in her rather large faded skirt that swished as she walked. 

“Por supuesto.” She smirked, ruffling his hair just slightly, but pulling away when he batted at her and gave a mock pout. “You may not have organs anymore chico but you still need to eat.”

“I figured that part out.” Miguel shrugged. “Though… I’m still a little confused how that works. Does the food like- fall through us? Or magically disappear? How does that even happen. I don-”

“Some of these things it's just best not to question.” The woman laughed. In the light of the day time Miguel could make out her features much better. Her hair was blonde and curly, most of it tied up in a bun but a few locks cascaded around her shoulders. It looked faded, like the colors on her dress. All of her seemed to have been aged with time. Like Héctor had been, her bones had a slight yellowish tint to them and her markings weren’t as colorful as others he had seen. But still, very pretty. Delicate purple flowers played below her eye sockets matched with yellow and pink swirls that danced around her crown and her jaw. Miguel secretly wondered when she died, or how old she was when it happened. But he wasn't sure if that was something you could ask someone here. 

“Ah, buenos días!” Marco called from the doorway of one of the many other shacks, his violin seemingly replaced with a hot plate of food. “Vengan aquí! Fresh off the skillet.” He called. 

Miguel followed his nose (and Amelia) inside the shack. The small room was a crude living space, cobbled together from scraps. Shoved up against the wall was a thin mattress propped upon a few crates, a blanket laid across it with a hole or two dotting the pattern. Near the front of the room was a pair of tin cans make shifted into a stove with a few careful cuts and a fire burning in each, a metal plate resting above them made for the stove top. Amelia ushered Miguel to a small crowding of crates that seemed to serve as chairs as Marco reddied a plate of food for him.

Miguel hadn't realized exactly how hungry he was till food was actually in front of him. Sat around a tiny makeshift table in Marco’s house it was easy to forget himself and devour his plate. Turns out, the food just magically disappears once its through the mouth. Miguel wasn't sure what to make of this new found discovery besides keep eating.

“Slow down.” Amelia laughed. “Don’t want to choke to death.” 

Miguel paused abruptly. “We can choke to death?” He said with a little squeak, abruptly putting down his plate. 

Marco chuckled. “Well, not to death. I mean, we’re already well... You know.” he shrugged. Miguel did know, and appreciated them not actually saying the word. 

He still wasn't ready to really say it aloud yet. 

“There is… well, there is another form of end for us here though.” Amelia whispered, a soft smile. “But maybe that’s another topic for another day muchacho.”

Miguel paused, looking down to his food. “You mean, when people forget about you?”

His question hung in the air, a pregnant silence that followed filled the space. 

Amelia and Marco exchanged a quiet look before both nodding slowly once. “Sí muchacho… but it’s not something you will have to worry about for a long while hopefully.” Marco said. 

Miguel looked to him. He could see that Marco was probably more in need of contemplating the final death than he was. He reminded Miguel of Héctor. The yellowed bones, the fractures hastily taped up in places, old ripped clothing. But his hair was a messy brown, his frame not so lanky, and his jaw a little wider. 

Looking between Amelia and Marco it was clear they were from a time that had passed long before Miguel was born. He silently wondered how many people there were left to think of them. 

And Héctor he…    


Miguel still didn’t know if Héctor was even alive. That thought had been tucked back with the memory of the car, something he just couldn't think about right now. But it was growing increasingly harder not to with Marco and Amelia reminding him of the papá he missed. 

“Miguel, you don't have to answer, but how old are you?” Amelia asked, a hand quietly placed on the boys knee. 

The little skeleton looked up from his plate and into her eyes. They looked kind, warm, pleading. He looked back down to his plate, trying not to shuffle his feet as his posture grew inwards. “Thirteen.” he whispered. “I would have been fourteen in October.”

He pretended not to hear the sharp intake of breath from both the adults. 

“I’m so sorry.” Amelia finally said, closing her eyes. “So you must not know any of your family over here.” 

Miguel paused, unsure of how much to reveal. “Um, well they all died before I was born really.” Which was true. Well, mostly true. If you didn't count Mamá Coco. 

“And did the people at the station call your family when you arrived?” Marco asked. 

The boy grew silent again. 

“Yeah. They did.” 

He didn’t need to say what was next. The current circumstances made obvious the fruits of that call. Or lack thereof. 

Dante looked up from where he had been secretly cleaning off Miguel's plate to nuzzle gently at the boys knee, fluttering his wings softly. 

Amelia gave a small laugh and smiled. “Well, you’re lucky to have such a loyal alebrije. Always trust in your spirit guide Miguel, he will take you where you need to be, even if you don't always realize it.” She reached out one bony hand to give the dog a few good scritches behind his ears, causing the xolo to melt like putty into the floor with a small ‘awoo’. 

“Heh, yeah Dante is a pretty good dog. I trust him. He lead me here… and well, here’s been pretty good.” Miguel smiled with a little shrug. 

“None of us down here really have family, or a place to go.” Marco shrugged. “We look out for each other, and that can include you whenever you need it.” He set his plate down on the table and turned to rummage through his few belongings before pulling out the violin, twisting the strings and plucking every now and again to test the tune. “You know… my family didn't come to meet me either.” 

Miguel looked up from where he had been petting his dog. “They didn't?” 

“No.” Marco shook his head and winced when a note came out sour. “They did not. I’m from… a bit of an older time than you muchacho. My family even more so. In life, I was a disgrace to them. They couldn't accept me for who I was. In death they hadn't changed.” 

Amelia grew quiet and cast her eyes away. “We all have our stories for being down here Miguel. We understand what it's like to wake up here alone.” 

Miguel nodded, petting Dante idly. His mind wandered to yesterday. Of waiting at that station on that stoop. Watching the people passing by and constantly hoping that one would be them. Hoping that any second his Papá Héctor would turn the corner and scoop him into his arms. 

But it never happened. 

(Maybe because Héctor was gone)

(Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Donthinkaboutit donthinkaboutit.)

“I don't know why mine didn't come for me.” Miguel admitted. “I thought… maybe today I would see if I could find them. My um… my grandpa, he loved music. I thought maybe if I look around places where musicians go, I could find him.” 

Marco stopped plucking his violin for a moment to scratch at his chin, thumb brushing against the blue swirls etched into his jaw bone. “Hm, that's a possibility.” he said “I hope it works out for you but… don't take this the wrong way primo, but be ready for things to maybe not go so well.” 

Miguel’s head shot up. “Not go well?”

“Well, we don't want to scare you chico, but if they didnt come for you, well you need to be ready just in case it was… in case they don't react well to seeing you. I’m sure it’ll be fine though hijo just… be careful.” Amelia said. 

“If you want, one of us could come with you.” Marco suggested, plopping down in the seat beside Miguel. 

Miguel remained quiet. 

Why didn't they come for him yesterday.

(Don't think about it. Don't think about it.)

Why didn't they want to see him. 

(Don't. Think. About. It.)

What if… what if he had failed to stir Mamá Coco’s memory in time and that's why Papá Héctor-

(donthinkaboutitdontthinkaboutitDONTTHINKABOUTIT)

“I’d rather go on my own I think.” He finally said, ignoring the emotions swirling around inside his head. 

Amelia and Marco exchanged another look before the woman shifted her gaze back to Miguel and nodded. “Ok chico. But if you need help, find us comprende? Family… is important. But family is also something you make. Family doesn't have to be someone you share blood with.”

Miguel sighed. He knew what she was trying to say, that she was trying to comfort him. And he got it, but his family had always been so close. Family had always ‘come first’. Even if it took him a while to learn that. 

Surely his family remembered that too. 

(don't think about it)

Yeah. All he needed to do was find them. 

Then everything would be ok. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time,
> 
> is Dante a good boy? 
> 
> Expect the next update Friday 7am +9 GMT


	7. An Adequate Boy

Dante was starting to question his status as a Good Boy. 

Miguel said he was a Good Boy, and that certainly counts for something. But lately he had been feeling less adequate than normal. For you see, His Boy was sad. And so far the xolo dog had been able to do little to cheer the kid up. 

Which was truly unfortunate because they were in a rather large plaza, that had so many good smells and good foods! But not even the smell of cooked meat that was wafting through the air could coax a smile out of the child. 

So Dante did what he could, he trotted alongside the tiny musician and vowed to keep him safe. After all he was a spirit guardian! And spirit guardians kept their charges safe! Yep! 

Dante would be a good spirit guardian! 

He felt so far, that he had not done all too terrible of a job. After all he had lead Miguel to a safe place to sleep, and people who he sensed were good. That was a very nice thing about being an alebrije, he could tell when people would be good to his little skeleton. It was something in the way they smelled.

And those skeletons smelled good. Sad. But good. 

But something… something smelled very bad. 

“Que pasa Dante?” Miguel asked. 

Dante… was not sure. But he huffed and kept his eyes peeled. Something was following them. And Dante didn't trust it. No sir. It did not smell good. It smelled of betrayal and ambition. It smelled of revenge. It smelled of-

Did he smell carne asada?! 

Dante bounded off in the direction of the good smelling food! Miguel quick on his heels shouting at him to wait. He was just about to pounce on the food stall in question when a set of hands grabbed him around the middle and held him back. “Dante stop! We can't!” Miguel chided. Dante pouted and sniffed the air. But it smelled so good! 

“Come on! We’re supposed to be looking for Papá Héctor.” The boy sighed once he had dragged the dog far enough away from the food stall so as to no longer be a hazard. Right, Héctor! The skeleton that smelled of dust, music, and more recently, shoe polish and leather. All the Rivera skeletons had that distinct shoe polish and leather scent. It made it very easy for Dante to find them in a crowd. 

So find them he would! If he could not bring Miguel to the house then at least he could try and find the boy’s family when they were about the square. Yes. This was a good task for the alebrije. He gave a snort and stuck his nose to the ground, butt high in the air and tail wagging as he began the search. 

He smelled many things in that square, many different kinds of skeleton people. But so far, no scent of Héctor or the scary lady with the boot who liked to yell at him to get out of the kitchen or so help her. 

After many many minutes spent searching, following this pathway and that, Miguel always behind him (and Dante kept making sure the boy was following him! He would not abandon his boy! Nuh uh! No sir!), the alebrije was starting to realize he was coming up short in his hunt. He huffed and sat down, crossing his eyes and letting his tongue hang out of his mouth. This was a puzzle. 

He needed to get Miguel to the shoe skeletons that smelled like him. But he couldn't go to the shoe skeletons house. And he couldn't smell them in town. 

Dante was not sure what to do. 

This made him very concerned. 

“Dante lets take a break ok?” Miguel sighed, slumping against the wall to the alley they had found themselves in. “We've been walking for hours and I haven't seen any of them.” He shifted his guitar forward so he could lean back. Little bony hands finding his hoodie and pulling it up over his head as he slid down along the stone till he was plopped on the floor. “I wonder if they're looking for me too.” He whispered. 

Oh no! His Boy! His boy was sad again! This would not do! 

Dante huffed and crawled right into Miguel's lap, preventing him from curling in on himself and hiding his face as he was want to do lately. No. Miguel would snuggle with him instead. This was surely the cure to all that ails him. 

What could be better than alebrije snuggles after all?

Well maybe cooked meat- No! He had a boy to think of! Not food! 

Miguel laughed a little and patted the dog on the head. “At least I have you.” he sighed, resting his head against the wall behind him. 

Dante huffed. And he had no intention of going anywhere. The last time he had left his boy alone, well, all of  _ this _ had happened. He had silently vowed to never leave Miguel alone. Unless he absolutely had to. 

Slowly Miguel began to scoot the dog off his lap, making the xolo whine and grumble as he was gently deposited onto the floor next to Miguel. Instead the guitar had taken his place as the boys bony fingers tuned it lightly. 

“And I got music.” Miguel whispered, offering a small smile Dante’s way. The dog laid down his head and listened to the music. He did love when His Boy played. Sometimes he even joined in, though this often got him a scolding from Abuelita with her scary chancla sandal. 

He did not like that shoe. 

“You make me un poco loco-” Miguel hummed quietly, plucking the strings on the guitar so gently the tunes were more of a whisper. “Un poquitito loco.” 

Ahh, this was one of Dante’s favorite songs. It reminded him of the grand adventure they had taken last year. And how fun that was. Besides the bit where they were falling. And when Miguel yelled at him. Or when Pepita had been chasing them. 

Those parts had been decidedly much less fun. 

But watching His Boy playing music with Papá Héctor on stage? Both dancing and smiling? Yes that had been very good. And Dante thought his howling had been wonderful accompaniment to their song. 

Miguel smiled and nudged Dante a little while he sang. “The sense that you’re not making-” 

“The liberties you’re taking~” A strong voice bellowed.

That smell! 

Miguel's guitar came to a sour note and instantly stopped once the second voice had sung. 

Dante knew that smell!

It smelled of betrayal! Ambition! 

It was The Mariachi! 

“Don't stop on my account mijo.” De La Cruz smiled, stepping from the shadows into the alley. “That’s one of my favorite songs.” 

“You!” Miguel yiped, pressing further against the wall. 

Dante was on his feet in an instant, teeth bared. An image flashed before his eyes… The mariachi holding Miguel by his shirt, dropping him off the tower. Miguel screaming. Dante flying as fast as he could. Trying, flapping his wings so hard trying to save them- Miguel falling from his grasp. 

No. This Mariachi would not touch his boy again. 

The man moved to take a step closer. Dante let out a loud warning bark. 

No.

“Mia culpa… your dog seems, not so fond of me.” Ernesto said, holding his hands up. 

“He’s not the only one.” Miguel grumbled, holding his guitar tight and shoulders squared. 

“And for that, I am sorry.” The man sighed. 

“Sorry?” The boy asked, eyes popping in surprise. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want my boy.” Cruz shrugged. “I had heard that you had joined us here in the land of the dead. I only wanted to see if it was true, and offer my apologies, whether you accept them or not.” His voice grew more hushed as he cast his eyes downwards. 

“How did you know I was here?” Miguel asked, the anger in his voice faltering with the slight strain of surprise. “I mean. I know you don’t care if I.. if I belong in this world now. What do you want?” 

“Of course I knew you were here.” Ernesto said with a look of puzzlement. “Though I admit, I am surprised I don’t see Imelda…. Where is your family chico?” 

Dante growled. 

Something wasn't right. He could smell it. He could smell the lies seeping out of the villains teeth. He may not understand all the words that human speak, but he understood that something was wrong.

Miguel looked down at his feet, fingers curling around the neck of his guitar. “I don’t know where they are.” He admitted. 

“Don’t know?” Ernesto questioned. “Surely they came with you to the square? Did you lose them? I can help-” 

“I don’t want your help.” Miguel spat. “Not after what you did to my Papá Héctor.” 

“You don't trust me.” Ernesto sighed. “I can not blame you. I truly am sorry Miguel… for my actions last year. After what happened to Héctor once you left I… I truly felt the weight of my actions.” 

Shock flashed upon the boys face. “Papá Héctor? What- what happened to my Papá Héctor?!” 

“Oh- oh you dont know!” Ernesto gasped. “Oh díos mio… I would have thought your family would have told you chico. I… I do not think it my place to say.” 

“No! No Papá Héctor is- is fine! I made Mamá Coco remember him! He’s fine! He just hasn't found me yet!” Miguel yelled, tears running down his face, leaving streak marks in the bone of his skull. 

“But once someone is already forgotten… well it’s… I am so sorry my boy, I did not want to be the one to tell you this news.” Ernesto whispered, moving to approach Miguel again but faltering in his steps when Dante growled louder. 

Dante knew this wasn't right. He would not let the Mariachi touch his boy- he had to protect Miguel. This wasn't right! 

“I’m sorry my boy. Héctor…. Is gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... 
> 
> well I mean, I said it gets worse before it gets better didn't I? 
> 
> Next time, Miguel is having a no good very bad day. 
> 
> I'd also like to clarify the timeline for a few folks who got confused.
> 
> Chap 1 takes place on Dia De Los Muertos, and happens after everything that has come in the fic so far in every other chapter. Its a peek into the future.
> 
> Chap 2 is the chronological start, at the end of July. Everything from this chapter on fills in the gap to explain how Miguel died, and why the Rivera's didn't know about it till Dia De Los Muertos. 
> 
> We'll catch back up to where chapter 1 is in the timeline eventually.
> 
> I'll go add in a note to the start of Chapter 2 that just says like "3 months earlier" or something like that. I tried to make it clear via context clues and dropping in the date and month a few times through the chapters, but I'm sorry I didn't make it clear enough folks!
> 
> Also sorry for another short chapter, but hey, important stuff happened! Next chapter goes up Monday 7am +9 GMT!


	8. Gone

Miguel felt his whole world shatter around him.

 

(dontthinkaboutit donthtinkaboutit)

 

“You’re… you’re lying!” He screamed balling his fists and stumbling. “You’re lying!”

 

“I’m so sorry my boy.” Ernesto whispered, face soft and eyes full of concern. “I thought you would have known. Please, I want to make amends, let me get you back to your family-”

 

“No!” Miguel yelled, backing away “No! Get away from me! It’s not true!” Héctor wasn’t… Héctor couldn't be….

 

(DONTTHINKABOUTIT)

 

(No.. no no no nonononono)

 

He was hardly aware of his feet moving. He was flying through the streets, all he knew was he had to get out of there. He couldn't be there. He needed Héctor.

 

But Héctor, was gone.

 

Miguel dropped to his knees.

 

He… had failed.

 

Héctor was…

 

He was….

 

Miguel wasn't even aware that he was sobbing. Was hardly aware of anything. He could sense that somewhere near him Dante was whining, pressing his nose against Miguel’s cheek. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

 

Because Héctor wasn't there. Miguel had failed. And Héctor was forgotten.

 

No no. No!

 

It couldn't be true- he had tried so hard! He had done everything he could! He had sung for Mamá Coco! Stayed up late into the night listening to her stories! He had written them down! Stuffed the papers in notebooks where they would be safe. Repaired the photo. (Little hands with calloused fingers struggling with tape as he sat criss cross on the floor. Carefully placing his Papá’s head back on where it belonged and smoothing down the strips of adhesive plastic so there would be no wrinkles.) He had made copies of the photo, stashed them everywhere so that there would be no more risk of his Papá Héctor being unable to cross over. He had written letters, piled the ofrenda with offerings. Sat in the big newspaper office in Mexico city telling them all about his great great grandpa, shared the letters and proof that the music was his. Done everything he could to make sure Papá Héctor would always be remembered.

 

There was no way… he couldn't have been too late. He couldn't have.

 

But then. Why had Héctor not come to get him?

  
  
Héctor would never forget his family, never leave them alone. Miguel knew this.

 

So why else… why else would no one have come to get him.

 

Dante’s whining grew louder and his nuzzling more aggressive as he tried to rouse the boy.

 

Miguel raised his eyes and looked at his dog. “I… Dante I think I failed.”

 

Dante whimpered, resting his head on the skeletons shoulder.

 

“I… failed.” he whispered.

 

He rubbed the palm of his hand against his eye sockets, clearing away some of the tears that didn't seem to stop. It was then that he took stock of his surroundings. He wasn't entirely sure where he was. He had just kept running. Couldnt look back… couldn't face De La Cruz.

 

He had come somewhere near Shantytown by his best guess. Or at least, away from the city. It was dark around him, puddles of water pooled at his feet. The reflection of a little skeleton boy in a hoodie caught his eye.

 

He hadn’t seen his face yet.

 

It didn't look all too dissimilar from the makeup Héctor had painted on him a year ago. His skull was round for a skeleton, and pearly white. His bony fingers traced around the markings. Little purple dots around his eyes, growing bigger as they ran up his face towards his forehead. Golden swirls mixed with greens around his chin, dancing up to his hairline.

 

They looked like Héctors.

 

His hand fell from his face and hung limp at his side.

 

All the thought’s he’d been shutting out of his head pooled in his consciousness like slick oil. Tainting his line of thought.

  
  
He had failed. He had failed to save Héctor. His family didn't come for him. He was dead.

 

He was dead.

  
  
He was alone.

 

The tears pooled from his eye sockets and wet running down his face. He no longer cared to stop them. He wasn't sure how long he cried. Wasn't sure how long it was till Dante started barking for someone. He was vaguely aware when some one gently lifted him up into strong arms. Looking up to see Marco carrying him. He saw his lips moving, knew the man was speaking. But it was like Miguel's ears were really gone. The words bounced off his consciousness.

 

Héctor was gone.

 

There were several voices around him. A hand placed on his shoulder. Their words bounced away from him, only catching every other one or so as they spoke around him.

 

‘Gone… shock.’

 

‘Went to….. Plaza… his family’

 

‘.... is….ok?’

 

‘Pobrecito… needs….maybe some…. And rest’

 

Absently he could feel Dante’s nose against his palm. His hand hung limply from the grasp of whoever was carrying him. Could hear Dante’s little whines when Miguel didn't respond.

 

‘Chico?’ a voice called from somewhere that felt far away. The hand on his shoulder shook him gently. ‘You’re going to…. My house…. Ok?’

 

Miguel wasn't sure if he had responded or not. But either way he was soon laid upon a mattress, or at least he’s fairly sure that's what it was. A blanket drawn up around his shoulders and tucked close to his sides. He could feel a heavy warm mass snuggle up to him, snuffling and shifting.

 

But he felt empty.

 

It wasn’t just the lack of organs. All of him felt hollow.

 

Soon the tears gave way into unconsciousness, letting the darkness pull him under into sleep.

 

The dark of sleep wrapped around him, one thought pulsing softly in his mind no matter how he tried to banish it.

 

Héctor was gone.

 

Héctor was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the shortest chapter yet, sorry about that. 
> 
> Andddddd very sad. Woops. 
> 
> And you may notice this ones formatted a bit different, I'm playing with the spacing a little bit and am going to go back to the past chapters and add in that extra space between paragraphs I think. 
> 
> Well, I can promise you that things will be much happier next week (..... and much longer, next chapter is a bit of a doozy. I need to finish editing it). 
> 
> Next time, Hector is dead. Catching up with family and a near miss. 
> 
> Next update is Friday 7am +9 GMT : )


	9. The Market

Héctor was dead. 

 

And he had never been happier. 

 

He had in fact, been dead for the majority of his existence. Such were the circumstances of dying young. But he was coming to find that all he had wished for in life, a big family, his lovely wife, spoiling his darling daughter and maybe future grandchildren, was all finally coming true.    
  
He had just had to wait for it for 90 years or so. 

 

And out of all the years of being… alive? Existing? Yeah existing, this past year since he reunited with his family had easily been the best.

 

There were some mornings he still couldn't entirely believe it all. Half the time he woke up in his bed with Imelda he expected to wake up in the tiny shack in Shantytown he had once called home. It was a pleasant surprise every morning to wake in the warm comfort of the Rivera household, his wife once again beside him, snoring softly into the pillow (though Imelda would never admit to the fact that she snored. Héctor was happy to pretend otherwise for her).

 

The Rivera’s were a family of early risers. As soon as the sunlight gently filtered through the curtains the household was already in full motion. Some busy readying a large breakfast for the whole clan, others already preparing the workshop for a full day of shoe making. 

 

Which… Héctor would be honest, he still didn't fully understand. The shoe tradition had happened after his passing, naturally, and having been estranged from his family for most of his afterlife, he had been mostly a stranger to the whole affair until recently. 

 

But it was easy to see that it was a passion for the Rivera’s that rivaled his love for music. He may not have been a shoemaker himself, but Héctor loved watching Imelda carefully stretch the leather over the sole of a shoe, stitching down the fabric in even and calculated lines, nailing in the heel with precise strokes. Each shoe became a work of art in her hands. 

 

One of the first things the family had done for him after the Día De Muertos of Legend was fashion him a pair of shoes. 

 

He hardly ever took them off.

 

Shoes were a bit of a luxury if you found yourself a rather poor skeleton. Afterall, you didn't  _ need _ them to survive. Hard to damage your feet when there was no skin on them. But feeling the solid sole of Rivera boots against the bottom of his foot had been a reassuring feeling. 

 

The whole year had been a rather slow recovery. Turns out coming back from the brink of being forgotten was no easy task. But clearly, someone had remembered him, and had passed down his stories. 

 

And he knew exactly who. 

 

“Héctor- are you going to stare all day or are you going to do something productive with yourself?” Imelda asked, not even looking up as she ran a swatch of leather through the machine. The needle thundered as her foot pressed against the pedal, leaving a smooth cream colored dotted line in the tan surface. 

 

“He always mooned after you in life.” Óscar shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows at the pair with a grin while he did some hand stitching on a wing tipped shoe. 

 

“What makes you think the afterlife would be any different?” Felipe asked, sewing in unison with his brother as they sat on the tall stools of their workbench. 

 

The rest of the family had stifled their looks of amusement as best they could by burying their heads further into their work. Héctor only huffed and propped his head against his hand, leaving his elbow on Imelda’s workbench. “90 years later and you two are still childish.”

 

The twins just gave a laugh. “Like we said-” Felipe grinned.

 

“Some things never change,” Óscar finished. 

 

In truth, Héctor couldn’t really be annoyed by their antics. Over the year he had done his best to get to know the family that for so long had been strangers to him. But Óscar and Felipe had been a comforting familiar presence to him in the beginning, having been the only two besides Imelda whom he had known in life. 

 

When he was a younger (less dead) man, they had been like brothers to him.    
  
And by that he meant they were annoying little brats that were constantly teasing him for dating their sister. 

 

Though, occasionally still supportive. 

 

They had been there to cheer him up after Héctor had been yanked off the wall in his attempts to climb to Imelda’s veranda and serenade her. They had been there to tease him the first time she rejected his offer for a date, gently ribbing him and trying to make him laugh. They had been there with shots of tequila and understanding looks when their father had yelled at Héctor and told him in no uncertain terms that he would never be worthy of Imelda. 

 

It had not taken long for their friendship to rekindle after the events of last year. The brothers had been the first to be by his side as he recovered, telling him stories of the things he’d missed while he struggled to recover his strength. They had been there to more literally support him when he had begun the process of physical therapy, his once bum leg slowly repairing and healing itself. Offering both words of encouragement and teasing as he worked to rid himself of the limp he’d had for so many decades now. 

 

The rest of the family, Héctor was getting to know in time. He was gaining a general idea. 

 

Julio had married Coco, and oy did it hurt Héctor’s heart that he had not been there to see their wedding. Though he had squealed with glee when Julio had pulled out the wedding photos. She was a beautiful bride, and Héctor treasured the photo of his Coco in a gorgeous white dress, arm in arm with a man slightly shorter than her with a well combed mustache, looking slightly nervous. (Héctor had been told that Julio received the shovel talk from Imelda since Coco’s father was not there to give it himself. Which, perhaps was for the best as Imelda was always a good bit more intimidating than him.) 

 

Julio was a quiet man, but very passionate about the wingtip shoes he was seemingly an expert in. He had tried to show Héctor once how to make them. This had not gone entirely well.    
  
Only three prototypes had wound up lodged in the ceiling after he had failed with the polisher.    
  
Julio had only laughed and told him that it happens, encouraging him to try again. 

 

With Julio came his sister Rosita. A woman so full of love and joy it seemed to spill out of her with every smile. She was an excellent cook, her passion for food rivaling her talent in the workshop with the shoes. She was often the one making the family breakfast (with help from the others of course) and always seemed at the ready with a hot plate of food.    
  
Héctor had been fed many MANY of her dishes in the first month of living with the Riveras. 

 

‘You're too skinny!’ Rosita had huffed, readying another plate of arroz con pollo. 

 

‘I mean… I’m just bones.’ Héctor had said, trying to appease her with a shrug.

 

‘Exactly! Not even skin and bones!’ 

 

‘But we’re ALL just bones!’

 

Héctor had quickly learned not to argue and just accept her food with a gracious smile. It was delicious after all. What he couldn’t finish Dante was always more than happy to help him out with the task. 

 

Last came Victoria, his granddaughter. The fact that he HAD a granddaughter made Héctor’s heart sing. (His reaction to hearing about the fact that he had two granddaughters, three grandchildren and at least five great grandchildren had been something to behold.)    
  
It was however, a little weird only meeting your granddaughter when she was in her 40’s physically and had been dead for many a year. 

 

Still, he was just happy to have a grandchild at all.    
  
Victoria, he had learned, was a quiet one, a trait she shared with her father Julio. She was however, always contemplative. Héctor had watched her silently looking over a shoe for near an hour, turning it this way and that debating what to do next with the design. 

 

She had been the slowest to open up to him. Credited to years of hearing from her grandmother about the horrible man who left her and Coco. The man they did not speak of. The man that even in death they did not acknowledge for the sin of abandoning his family. 

 

Decades of sour opinions could not always be easily undone. But slowly and surely, she had begun to reach out to him. It was in different ways than the others. It would be with a fresh glass of water by his bedside when he had still been too weak to get up. It had been her slowly telling him bits and pieces of her life, sharing stories of her Mother and what it had been like to grow up in the Rivera household. Telling him about her sister Elena who seemed to take after Imelda in fiery spirit. 

 

With her Héctor shared the unspoken trait of an early death. They rarely spoke of it, but it was a silent acknowledgment, spoken in a look shared when others mentioned the later years of their living life. 

 

“Papá, why don't you come help me in the kitchen?” Coco prompted, drawing him from his thoughts with a smile. She stood in the doorway to the workshop, apron over her floral embroidered dress. A bowl in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. 

 

As sad as he was that his darling daughter had passed away, he was endlessly happy to be able to hold her in his arms again. He crossed the room quickly, scooping her up into a hug. “What are you cooking this time?” he asked. 

 

She had lived a long life, just as he had hoped for. She had lived longest of all of them in fact, and it showed a little in her skeleton, and her head of gray braided hair. And for that, Héctor couldn't be happier. 

 

Apparently her memory had begun to fail her in her later years of life, a fact Héctor was all too aware of given his rapidly decreasing strength from being forgotten. But in death it all came back with a flourish, and she was constantly regaling the family with stories. Telling them all about how the world had changed after they had left, the family that had grown, and her favorite grandson. 

 

Héctor was ALWAYS eager to hear about his favorite grandson. 

 

(The fact that Miguel was the only grandson he had met was irrelevant to him) 

 

“Pan.” Coco said with a smile, tilting her mixing bowl to show the dough that was beginning to form from her efforts. “I thought it would be nice to have fresh bread with breakfast tomorrow.” 

 

“Mija never trust your Papá in the kitchen,” Imelda cautioned, still not looking up from her work. “Or did you forget about the tamales incident?” she asked, the slightest smirk ghosting across her lips. 

 

“Tamales incident?” Rosita asked with a little squeak. “What happened?”    
  
“I thought we agreed never to speak of that again!” Héctor whined, throwing a scowl towards his wife. 

 

“You were too young to remember Coco.” Óscar said. 

 

“Sí. It was a big mess.” Felipe nodded.

 

“The priest banned Héctor from ever helping with a church dinner again.” The twins concluded. 

 

Héctor grumbled. He could cook just fine. Ok… maybe not just fine. He could a little.    
  
If Imelda was helping him. 

 

“Tontos.” Héctor scoffed before giving his daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Don't listen to them mí estrella- but perhaps I should leave the baking to you.” 

 

Coco laughed and gave him a side hug back, careful not to jostle her mixture of flour and dough. 

 

“Besides.” Héctor shrugged. “I need to go to the mercado today.”    
  
He needed some new supplies after all. Namely paint, and some wood.    
  
He had been keeping it a bit of a secret, or as best a secret as Héctor could manage to keep from the rest of the family. But he had started a project to keep himself busy while the others worked on filling their orders and designing new shoes. 

 

When he wasn't playing music in the plaza, or the occasional show when he was offered a gig, he busied himself with putting together a room for his boy. 

 

He had only started it recently, spurred on by memories of seeing Miguel at Día De Los Muertos. It had lifted his spirit to hear him play, and that new song he wrote was catchy to boot. Héctor was still catching himself humming it. He was trying to remember it as best he could and teach himself to play it. But when his bony hand had passed right through his grandson’s shoulder, he felt an emptiness.    
  
He could see Miguel, but he could not share in his presence. Not truly.    
  


Imelda had held him that night, told him it was natural to feel that way. That as happy as she was to see her loved ones she too felt the sadness of not being able to communicate with them. 

 

Héctor tried to look on the bright side however. So, Miguel wouldn't be able to see him for many (many MANY) years to come. Which was good! He wanted Miguel to live a nice long life and enjoy the spoils of the living that were robbed from him by his own early death.   
  
But that didn't mean he couldn't start preparing. One day, Miguel would die. The simple thought twisted in his stomach with a sadness. But, when he arrived in the land of the dead, his boy would not be alone! Héctor would be sure of that!    
  
So he had started to work on an addition to the house. When ever Miguel joined them, Héctor would be ready, and he would make sure there was space in their family (and the home) for him. He knew all to well the pains of loneliness in the land of the dead, and had vowed to never let a member of his family go through what he did. 

 

“The market? Again?” Imelda asked, finally looking up from her work at him. “You were there just last week!” 

 

“I need more stuff.” Héctor shrugged. 

 

“Must be for that ‘project’ of his he thinks we don't know about.” Julio laughed, absently polishing a shoe that was nearing completion. 

 

“Oh sí.” Rosita smiled. “We know nothing about any expansions he’s working on to the house.”    
  
“Expansion? Is that what all that woods been for?” Imelda questioned. “Héctor…” 

 

“Oh look at the time, I got to run!” 

 

Héctor was out the door before Imelda even finished her long exasperated sigh.    
  
God did he love that woman.    
  
Pepita gave him a soft ‘huff’ as he slipped through the front gates of the compound and into the neighborhood streets. It was a fairly quiet place, mostly families and a few local shops. A far cry from where he once lived. 

 

Héctor gave a quick glance around. All seemed fine but after the other week he felt somewhat more cautious than perhaps normal. “Pepita!” he called, poking his head back through the gates. “Be on the lookout for Ernesto…. Just in case.”

 

The large alebrije lifted her head and gave a quizzical look.    
  
“Look it’s just in case ok?”    
  
Pepita huffed. 

  
“Don't give me that look.” Héctor sighed crossing his arms. “Ok so I  _ may _ or may not have run into Ernesto the other week.” He groaned motioning with one arm nonchalantly. “Look don’t tell Imelda, and if you see him just like, I don’t know, run him into a bell. That seemed to work last time.” 

 

The alebrije swished her tail at the man, staring at him before blinking once and settling back down in her position guarding the house gates. 

 

“Gracias!” Héctor called with a wave before leaving for real this time, a small purr his only response. 

 

It was just a precaution anyways. It's not like Ernesto could actually do much more to harm Héctor or his family, but after running into him about a month ago, Héctor was taking no chances. The whole encounter had left him with a sleazy feeling all over. Which was par for the course with Ernesto come to think of it. 

 

He wasn’t keeping tabs on the man, until that meeting he had assumed Ernesto was still stuck under the bell. (And wasn’t it a damn shame that someone had gone and dug him out?) But the department of legal affairs had gotten in contact with Imelda and informed her that Ernesto was legally obligated to keep a certain distance from his murder victim (that being Héctor) and attempted murder victim (Miguel).    
  
Héctor still wasn’t entirely sure how one prosecuted murder from beyond the grave, but a taped confession in front of a live audience while the musician had thrown Miguel off the building was all the courts seemed to need to find him guilty. 

 

Which was just fine with him. 

 

The sound of the trolley drew him forward as he ran towards the car, hopping on just as it began to lift off the platform and into the air. The little metal structure was filled with a variety of skeletons, some chatting, others with their non-noses buried in newspapers or books. 

 

Héctor settled himself on the back of the trolley in the open air, leaning against the rail and looking out onto the streets below. From up in the air the Land of the Dead was a blur of color and light, the sounds of music drifting upwards.    
  
From the bright lights he could see a darker patch, where the illumination was soft. Scattered street lamps around a dingy part of the town where many were too scared to venture. Shantytown certainly stood out compared to the rest of the Land of the Dead from a birds eye view. A pang of guilt tugged at his consciousness as Héctor thought of how long it had been since he’d gone back to visit the place he once called home. He had made a family down there, but it was difficult to find the time to go down there, and when he did the unspoken danger that loomed over the area made it a risky business. He knew there were good people down there, but he also knew there were some that were really best left forgotten. 

 

Still, he made a mental note to himself to pop by soon for a visit. It had been too long, and many of those skeletons had been his support system when they all had nowhere else to go. They were family too. 

 

“Now arriving at the plaza- now arriving at the plaza” a voice called over the little metal intercom above the door to the main trolley car. Héctor pushed off against the rail and prepared to deal with the shuffle as everyone tried to exit onto the platform. 

 

The Plaza was in a commotion as always. Countless people scattered about, shops selling and bartering, old abuelitas swearing they could get whatever they needed for a better price from some other vendor, couples looking at each other with stars in their eyes. All with the strums of music filling in the silent pockets between the chatter as different musicians busked for spare change in exchange for their melodies.    
  
The plaza was fairly large in size, all the vendors stalls pushed to the edge of a rather large circle with a fountain in the middle. Towards the back was a more open space, usually filled with people talking or musicians playing, though it also housed a stage during certain events. Arched across the entryway to the whole area was a wrought iron sign that read ‘Plaza’. It had once been called the ‘Plaza De La Cruz’ but somewhere along the line someone had thought to paint a line through the murderous bastard’s name. Since then everyone else seemed to go along with the notion of shortening the name to simply ‘the Plaza’. Ran off the tongue easier that way. 

 

The whole places was chaotic, busy, and musical. Héctor loved it.    
  
In the last year or so Héctor found himself coming here more and more, often picking up his guitar and strumming something out. He still didn’t feel the need to pander to an audience, but music felt good again.    
  
For so long it felt sour, a reminder of what he had lost and what was stolen from him. But in the last year, it had begun to feel magical again. Each note echoed through his bones and he felt his soul in his songs. The little bit of coins thrown his way when he played certainly helped too. He liked to feel like he contributed at least a bit to the household, even if the shoe business was bringing in enough pesos to keep everyone comfortable. 

 

Héctor quickly threw himself into his task, busying about the market. He soon found himself with a few planks of wood across his shoulder while he knelt down examining some paint swatches.

 

(What color did Miguel like? His jacket was red, but a whole red room? Mmm no. Maybe something more neutral-)   
  
“My I didn’t expect to run into you here Señor Rivera, but I’ll call this a happy surprise,” a voice chirped from behind him. 

 

“Eh?” Héctor swiveled around, nearly taking out several skeletons in the process. “Ah lo siento lo siento.” He grinned with a nervous laugh.    
  
The rather short man behind him gave a chuckle. “Sorry to interrupt, if you’re busy I can just call on you another time-” 

 

“No no! It’s fine, Señor uh.. Señor… con permiso, I don’t believe I know you.” Héctor admitted with a sheepish look. 

 

The man was indeed fairly short, in brown slacks held up by suspenders over a white shirt with a high starched collar. He had a small bag of goods in one hand a briefcase in the other. Probably died somewhere in the 30’s Héctor guessed. That or he just had a rather old fashion sense. 

 

“Oh right right, we’ve never officially met. I’m Señor Fuentes, Miguel’s Special Circumstances caseworker.” He smiled setting down his briefcase and offering his hand.

 

“Miguel’s… special circumstances worker?” Héctor mumbled, taking the handshake rather numbly. “Why would my great great grandson need a special circumstances worker?”

 

Senor Fuentes gave a laugh “What you think a kid who gets cursed and comes to the land of the dead as a mortal and then turns things topsy turvy  _ doesn't _ warrant special circumstances?” 

 

“Ah… I see your point.” Héctor nodded. He didn’t realize someone could get a caseworker before they even died, but granted if any situation warranted special circumstances it was probably Miguel’s. It wasn’t every century you got a living child in the Land of the Dead. Frankly Héctor was more surprised the bureaucracy was so on top of things for once if the kid had a file and case worker before he was even properly dead.    
  
“This is rather fortunate I’ve run into you.” Fuentes nodded. “We haven’t heard from Miguel since the night of his arrival, is he adjusting adequately at home? Every one down at the station has been rather worried, and we’ve had some difficulties contacting your family.” 

 

Héctor paused. Díos how was he supposed to know these kinds of things? Well he did see the kid on Día De Los Muertos, ah what a night that was. No time to get mushy now though! Right, the kid. “He’s doing good.” Héctor finally nodded, thinking back to the only time he got to see his chamaco since the incident. “Getting along with the family, I think he’s happy.” Héctor smiled softly. When a musician played, it was like baring their soul. And in those moments, watching Miguel sing a song he himself had composed, he could see Miguel’s soul was full of joy and love and music. “I’m just happy he’s getting to play his guitar freely.” 

 

“Splendid!” Señor Fuentes sighed. “He left so abruptly and we had no way to contact him… ah I’m happy he’s adjusting well. Can’t be an easy thing you know? Coming to the Land of the Dead so young… well I’m certainly glad he’s got his family then.”

 

Héctor had no idea they were so thorough down at the pencil pushers station. Well perhaps they were turning around. It would be nice to see the arrival’s cases handled more smoothly. If only the bureaucracy could work on helping some of those skeletons in Shantytown or those without families to go to…   
  
“Where is Miguel then?” Señor Fuentes asked looking around as if he expected the child to be in tow. 

 

If Héctor still had eyebrows one would mostly certainly be raised by now. “Um… at home?” First Ernesto and now Señor Fuentes. What did they expect the kid to get cursed  _ again _ ? (Lord Imelda would have a fit if the chamaco somehow managed to get cursed twice in one lifetime. Once had been enough for everyone involved.) 

 

“Ah of course.” The man nodded. “Well I won’t keep you, I’ve got to go update Miguel's file and get back to work, I’m sure you have important business to attend to yourself.”

 

“Ah yes,” Héctor said setting down the planks of wood he had been carrying. “I’m actually working on a room for Miguel, I was just picking up some stuff to get back to work.” 

 

Señor Fuentes beamed. “Splendid! Ah everyone will be so glad to know things are going so well. Well, best of luck to you Señor, and give the child my best won’t you?”    
  
“Um… sure?” Héctor offered rather confused by the whole affair. How Héctor was supposed to give Miguel the best from someone else when he himself couldn’t make contact with the boy was a mystery. “Well it was good to meet you Señor.”

 

“Likewise” Fuentes nodded with a wave as he began on his way. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again!” 

 

Héctor tilted his head and chalked it up to just an odd encounter and went back to his project, browsing at the colors until deciding eventually on a calm bluish paint. 

 

As he walked the streets of the plaza he silently thought of how one day he’d get to show this place to Miguel again and play music in the square together. But that would be so long from now. 

 

Héctor sighed and shifted his items as he walked through the square. From somewhere in the plaza he could make out the gentle tunes of ‘poco loco’ drifting through the air. The song instantly bringing memories to his mind as he smiled. 

 

Well, he waited almost a century to see his little girl again, he could wait a century more for Miguel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter to make up for the last couple short ones. 
> 
> Sorry if ya'll arent interested in the life of the Rivera's since the incident, but I felt so much needed checking in on what every one had been up to was in order. 
> 
> And yes I loved writing the little scene with Fuentes. 
> 
> Next time, Miguel really shouldnt be wandering in such dark places alone. Next chapter goes up Monday +9 GMT at 7 am (ish, sometimes I'm like 20 minutes late, sorry ya'll!)


	10. An Unexpected Hero

Miguel plucked the strings on his white guitar quieter than usual. Granted these days he did everything quieter than usual. 

“The way you keep me guessing, I’m nodding and I’m yes-ing” he hummed softly. 

As he sat against an alley wall just off the Plaza he watched some of the people pass by, the crowd almost a blur in its motions. 

But the song that had once brought him so much joy to play felt empty. Hollow. Like the rest of him. Miguel sighed and dropped his hand from the frets and set his guitar down next to him. He glanced at it from the corner of his eye. Most people knew the iconic white guitar as Ernesto De La Cruz’s signature instrument (and indeed any one who ran across Miguel with it assumed it was an imitation of Ernesto’s) but Miguel knew the truth. He knew it was his Papá Héctors guitar. 

He didn’t feel like he deserved it anymore. 

And ok, maybe that was too far. But Miguel was just… empty. 

Dante whined and placed his head on the boys shoulder, as if he was picking up on the maudlin thought. Miguel gently patted the top of his dogs head. A sad smile crossed his lips. He knew he shouldn't be dwelling so hard on it all. But, he couldn't help it. He had tried to keep positive, to be happy, but the emotions wouldn't come. It wasn't even that he was constantly sad. After the initial shock and sobbing had subsided, it was like he felt nothing at all. Not even music helped him. Once songs had brought him a secret joy, a feeling of elation with every note plucked from his guitar. Then later it had become a connection to his family. Now the magic was gone. He couldn’t feel it anymore. 

Was it weird to be mourning someone when you yourself were already dead? He wasn’t entirely sure. Things worked so differently here. At times the Land of the Dead seemed familiar and welcoming, but others he just wanted to ask for help from his familia. But they weren’t there. 

It had been nearly a month since his passing, and still, he hadn’t found his family. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. How could he face his Mamá Imelda after what happened? His Mamá Coco? He just wasn’t ready, and the fact that they didn’t seem to be looking for him either, was well… well something he didn’t want to think about right now. 

“Come on Dante…. Let’s go back.” He sighed, pushing off the wall and grabbing the guitar, slinging it across his back and adjusting his red hoodie. 

He was still wearing the same clothes he arrived with. They had already been a little worse for wear when he got to the Land of the Dead, but now they were starting to look pretty bad. Miguel figured he certainly had the ‘street rat’ look down pat. 

His fingers numbly played with a hole on the sleeve of his jacket, reminding himself to ask Julieta later if she could help him fix it. 

He had learned that the Land of the Dead did indeed have a nighttime and daytime, though the illumination and bright colors from street signs and lamps seemed oddly ever present, casting the city in warm shades of color. It almost seemed to be brighter at night with all the lamps turned on instead of the sun. 

The city was really pretty cool, though Miguel had yet to explore a lot of it. He had spent a majority of his time with Amelia or Marco, alternating sleeping at one of their houses or the small one he got to call his own. He figured he was lucky to have found such nice people right away, they were good to him. 

He wondered how much longer they all had. 

None of his new friends from the slums were quite as forgotten as Héctor was when Miguel knew him. 

They all looked worse for wear, yellowed bones and tired eyes. Dusty clothes with tatters and holes, scraping to get by and keep food on the table. They didn’t get the gold glow that forgotten ones got, the glow he still sometimes saw as he came across more faded skeletons in Shantytown. But still, he wondered, 

How long until they were forgotten too? 

Dante whined and shifted his stance, moving closer to him. Miguel just sighed and pet his head a few times. 

The alebrije had been like this almost every time they wandered into the city, always seemingly on edge and ready to pounce. Miguel wasn’t really sure why. 

Amelia had warned him that the city could be dangerous sometimes, and he needed to take care. Not exactly a new idea, Miguel figured all cities everywhere living and dead were at least a little dangerous. Still, he wasn’t sure exactly what had gotten Dante’s goat and riled him up. 

Whatever it was he hoped it would stop soon. 

“Come on boy, its fine.” Miguel insisted with one last scritch behind the ears. Dante huffed and shook his head, keeping his nose to the ground as he sniffed out their path back. 

As they wandered further from the city center towards the outskirts the bright lights slowly faded off. The atmosphere morphing from warm yellows and oranges to a darker tone, the lamp posts growing further and further apart. Leaving the moon to guide his path back. 

Slowly he began to descended towards Shantytown, the wooden planks creaking under his boots. 

Creak creak creak, with each step. 

Dante growled and Miguel paused. 

“Dante come on-”

The creaking however, continued. 

Miguel went rigid as a board, clenching his fists around his guitar strap. “Whose there?” He asked hesitantly, eyes scanning the darkness. 

The sounds stopped. Dante’s growl was low as he stuck close to Miguel's side. 

He turned around, ready to book it towards anywhere but there when a hand fisted itself in his jacket and hoisted him up. 

Miguel screamed as he was shoved up against the side of an empty shack. 

“You gotta have some cash right muchacho?” The larger skeleton holding onto him grumbled. “I’m sure you know all about sharing the wealth with the rest of us right?” 

Miguel struggled in his hold, thrashing around trying to free himself. “I don’t have anything!” He yelled, turning his face away, the mans breath was rank with the smell of tequila. He was tall that was for sure, broad shouldered and in clothes more tattered than any one else Miguel had come across. 

“Don’t lie to me kid!” The man yelled, giving him a good shove, bringing his other hand up to hold Miguel’s head back by his hair. “Come on what do you got?” Dante was barking loudly, nipping at the mans arms only to be smacked away.

“Nothing nothing!” Miguel yelled, kicking his feet, searching for leverage, anyway to wrangle free. But the man was strong, way stronger than a small 13 year old boy. 

“Let him go!” A voice called. Miguel cracked an eye open, searching for the source of the voice. He knew that voice. 

“Huh? Who's there-” The thief growled. 

A fist to the face was the only answer to the question as another man flew forward, sending the attacker tumbling back. 

Miguel dropped to the ground with a thud, his bones rubbing uncomfortably against each other from the impact. 

The second man was quickly overtaking the attacker, pushing him farther away from Miguel. Dante darted himself in front of him, taking up a protective stance as he kept a firm eye on the struggling men. 

“Get out.” The second man bellowed, standing over the first attacker and holding him by the scruff of his shirt collar. “Don’t you ever come near this boy again do you hear me?” 

“Fine fine!” The man yelled, yanking himself off and scrambling away, disappearing into the darkness. 

Miguel’s rescuer sighed as he watched the attacker run off, running his hands through his hair and smoothing it out, though a few locks tumbled free still. “Are you alright mijo?” He asked, turning around. 

“Señor De La Cruz?” Miguel yipped, still gripping his guitar. 

“I’m sorry-” De La Cruz said, taking a cautious step forward, only to hesitate when Dante let out a warning bark. “I was passing through and I saw the man and you- and well, I couldn't just stand aside.” 

“Dante! Stop it.” Miguel chided, pulling the dog back as he bared his teeth. Dante whined but obeyed, looking back at him with confusion. “I don't think he’s going to hurt us…” 

Dante snorted. 

“I mean no harm” Ernesto said, hand held up as if in oath. “I swear.” 

Miguel eyed him cautiously, fingers still gripping tight onto the strap of his guitar. 

“I do not expect you to like me… or even trust me.” Ernesto admitted, holding a hand out. “But I am a different man now. Please, at least let me walk you home, it’s not safe to be out in such places alone.” 

Miguel looked at the hand offered to him and cautiously he took it. Ernesto was strong enough that Miguel hardly needed to use any strength as he got to his feet, trying not to stumble once he was on two legs again. 

Carefully he checked over his bones, making sure nothing was too out of place. “Thanks I guess.” He muttered, brushing off some of the dirt from his pants. 

“I’m just glad you’re alright my boy.” Ernesto said, adjusting his suspenders. 

Miguel looked him over with a skeptical eye. He looked similar to their encounter a month ago, but now Miguel really had a chance to take the man in. His looming and broad stature was somewhat undercut by his more tattered appearance. Long gone were his white and gold embroidered charro suit, instead he had simple brown slacks held together by a set of broken suspenders over a dress shirt, which was ripped on one shoulder just slightly. His hair still had that streak of gray, though it all together didn't look as well kept as previous as stray hairs flitted about his face. 

“Yeah I’m fine… thanks.” Miguel said. 

Dante, who had stopped growling after Miguel’s scolding, was still holding his ground. Keeping himself between Miguel and the former star. 

“Your dog still seems a bit… ah, angry with me.” De La Cruz said with a nervous laugh. “It’s… I understand.” 

“Look I better get going.” Miguel said a little nervously. 

“Of course of course, please let me escort you home- it’s the least I can do.” Ernesto said. “A young boy such as yourself should not be out in places like this alone.”

“It’s fine.” Miguel shrugged. “I’m out here all the time.” 

Ernesto paused. “Miguel, why are you not at home with your family?” He asked quietly. 

The boy stopped, and looked up at Ernesto again. He really did look… different. But still Miguel felt a tugging at the back of his mind, reminding him that he shouldn’t trust this man who was once his biggest hero. “No reason.” Miguel muttered. 

“Mijo, you’re not… alone are you? Aren't you living with your familia?” The musician asked, a look of concern flashing across his face. 

“I dont wanna talk about it,” he whispered, shifting his eyes away. “I can get back on my own alright?” 

Ernesto sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If you insist mijo. Please be careful my boy.” 

“I will.” Miguel nodded, dashing off. 

He caught himself and paused one last time and turned around. “And… just thanks ok? For saving me.” He called. 

The mariachi offered a small smile and a single wave before turning back around and disappearing into the darkness of the alleyways. 

Miguel trudged forward, eyes now constantly darting about looking for any more signs of danger. But as soon as he heard the melodies of a violin his shoulders instantly relaxed and the smallest of smiles crept onto his face. 

Several skeletons were gathered around a makeshift table out in what surpassed as a square for Shantytown. Amelia was engaged in a rowdy game of cards with Julieta, Posada, and one more male skeleton that Miguel didn't recognize. Marco supplied the music and laughed along when any one got too flustered at a losing hand. 

“Miguelito!” Posada called as he approached. His steps quickened until he came to stand amongst the group, putting up with Amelia ruffling his hair with her free hand. 

“Where have you been all day hijo?” Amelia asked finally pulling her hand away after Miguel’s hair was good and mussed. She stifled a laugh (though a few giggles still came out) at the expression on the boys face as he tried to fix it. 

“Nowhere.” He shrugged. Amelia leveled him with a look. “Just the plaza!” He corrected. 

“You’ve been going there a lot lately.” Julieta hummed before drawing a card from the stack in the middle of the table. 

Miguel shrugged and hefted his guitar off before scrambling on top of one of the barrels being used as a makeshift chair. He was just on the shy side of being tall enough, leaving his feet to dangle silightly. “Just something to do I guess.” He didn't miss the look Marco and Amelia briefly shared at his statement. 

The reality was that he did not have all that much to do in the square. He went there to really just get out more than anything else. He had spent so long after the shock of Héctors final death just crying. It had been as if the grief of his own death and that of his Papá’s had fallen together at once, all the things he had been avoiding hit with a powerful force. 

“Well it’s good to get out and about.” Amelia smiled. 

“Si.” Marco nodded. “But if you’re that bored chico I could always find something for you to do.” 

Miguel had spent the majority of the last month crying in the tiny shack he occupied, or in Amelia and Marco’s. He knew they both especially worried for him. And as much as Miguel would bat away Amelia’s hands when she messed with his hair, it was nice to have some one looking after him. 

Even if others seemingly didn't care he was even dead. 

The boy shook his head. No, he wouldn't wallow. He had been trying so hard not to focus on that. Wallowing only lead to nothing but sitting and crying. And he didn't want to cry anymore. 

“Ay Miguelito! Your sweatshirt has another hole in it.” Posada lamented. 

Julieta instantly put down her cards and snatched up the fabric, taking his arm with her. Miguel caught himself from tumbling forward as the coat was examined. The skeleton woman tutted and lightly ran her finger over the loose threads fraying from the hole. 

“I’ll have to buy some thread tomorrow and see if we can fix this ya?” She sighed, letting him take his arm back as he adjusted the fabric of his sleeve until it sat right on his bony frame again. 

“Gracias.” Miguel said. “I would like that.” 

The card game continued into the night, Miguel rested his head in his arms as he leaned on the table, watching and sometimes laughing when the older skeletons antics got out of hand. 

Hardly any one had noticed when he had fallen asleep like that. Save for Amelia, who simply smiled and gently placed her shawl around his shoulders as he drifted softly in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! 
> 
> Thank you all by the way for all the comments! I'm very sorry I haven't had time to go through and reply to them all but I really appreciate every single one! 
> 
> Posting this fic before I head to work and the responses I get through the day are honestly what makes my mondays more fun. 
> 
> Next time; Dante is not a fan of this new Ernesto development no sirrrrrrrrrr. Its about time some one put their paw down. Next chapter goes up Friday +9 GMT 7 am!


	11. Breakfast

Dante was still not sure if he was a good boy. But he did know one thing, Good Boys did not leave their boys unattended in unsafe places. But thankfully, Dante knew that Marco and Amelia were good skeletons! They smelled like good people! (And Dante would know, he had an excellent nose) So he did not feel too much worry over visiting the living world while Miguel slept. He knew his boy was in good hands in the meantime. 

 

Just the same, he did not tend to linger. Dante wasn’t eager to leave Miguel alone for too long, even if he was fairly sure the boy was safe where he had left him. But also for the reason that even for a dog, the Rivera house in the Land of the Living was a rather heartbreaking sight. 

 

That morning, Dante happened across the old lady with the chancla, sitting quietly in a chair at the kitchen table. 

 

Dante had just been checking on little Soccorro. She may not have have been strictly his charge, but Miguel loved her. And wanted Miguel to be happy, so he felt like making sure the little Rivera was ok fell under his duties as spirit animal. The house was quiet, the morning stillness yet to be broken. 

 

Elena gently picked up one of the several photos scattered about the table before setting it down again with a heavy sigh. Dante tilted his head before slowly approaching. He knew this Abuelita was not especially fond of him (though he was very fond of her cooking) but something told him that he should not fear her sandel today. Not unless he tried to sneak into the kitchen stores again. 

 

The old woman shifted her eyes downwards towards the dog. “Didn’t expect to see you.” she whispered, offering her hand down to give him a gentle pat on the head. Dante responded by wagging his tail softly. “The funeral is tomorrow.” She spoke again, picking up another one of the pictures with her spare hand. “Ay why am I even telling this to a dog. You don't understand a single word I’m saying.”

 

Dante huffed. 

 

Humans and always assuming he didn't understand things. 

 

Ok he didn't understand everything…. Or most things… but that was beside the point.

 

She was sad about Miguel. He understood that. 

 

He gently rested his head on her knee. These things, emotions, he understood those.

 

Elena sighed. She was not an especially young woman, but the last month had clearly worn deeply on her person. She looked much more tired than she used to, the fiery spirit hindered by a heavy grief. “I have to pick a photo.” She explained, evidently deciding that Dante was still a good choice to discuss this with. “For the ofrenda.” 

 

Dante kept wagging his tail gently, eyes flickering between the woman and the different sets of photos. 

 

Her fingers hovered over one before she finally picked it up. It was of Miguel last Dia De Los Muertos, wearing a red charro suit and holding up his white guitar, a big smile plastered across his face. 

 

Dante thumped his tail harder. Yes, this was a good picture of his boy. He hoped he could make Miguel smile like that again soon. He didn’t smile enough these days. It was a serious problem. Dante was still trying to fix this problem.

 

Elena smiled softly “I like this one too.” She said with a little nod. 

 

From above the beginnings of the rest of the family rising could be heard as feet padded on wooden floors. Dante realized he should go. He didn't want to leave Miguel alone for very long after all, even if he was in a safe place. 

 

He pulled away from Elena with a small bark, chancing one last glance back at the woman before slipping out of the house and into the yard. 

 

He quickly found a pocket he could slip into that led back into the spirit world he now called home. 

 

He was beginning to learn all the good shortcuts to get back to the little home in Shantytown. It had taken him a bit of trial and error but he was getting the lay of the land. Which was good, because he had to protect Miguel! It was a very important job! Especially with that man hanging around lately. 

 

As Dante padded through the door and approached the hammock in which his little skeleton boy was sleeping, he sniffed the air. Just to be safe. 

 

He smelled the warmth of a found family, the beginnings of bacon cooking from somewhere in the direction of Marcos home (Dante was sure to investigate that with Miguel very soon. Bacon was first priority after waking up his boy.) He smelled a home. 

 

Thankfully he did not smell evil Mariachi. Yet. 

 

The man had been hanging around. And Dante did not like it. No sir. 

 

He knew the man had been following them places. Dante was very suspicious. He did not trust the evil musico. 

Maybe he could convince Pepita to slam him into the side of a bell again. Yes, this was a good idea. He would ask Pepita about it the next time he was at the Rivera house. 

 

Which…. He wasn't exactly sure when that would be next. He hoped soon. He wanted to return Miguel to his family. But he was still banned from the house and he could sense Miguel wasn't ready. Something was wrong and Miguel was sad. Dante wanted to fix it. It was true Dante didn't understand most things. Most human words went in one ear and out the other. But he understood that his boy needed him, and so, he would stick close to his boy. 

 

But first, Miguel needed to wake up. Because there was bacon. And bacon was very important!

 

At first he merely nudged Miguel, hoping this would do the trick. He only gave a snore and turned over in his hammock. 

 

Right. Change of tactics. 

 

Dante gave a loud bark, and then another, standing on hind legs and pushing against the boy with his paws. 

 

“Dante no….” Miguel groaned, batting in air in the general direction of Dante. “Too early.”

 

Dante huffed. It was never to early for bacon. 

 

The xolo gave another push and that was enough to send the hammock spinning. Miguel toppled out with a yelp and landed on the floor. He groaned and slowly lifted his head, leveling a look at the dog. “Why.” 

 

Dante barked and started nudging the child with his nose until he reluctantly got up off the floor and to his feet. 

 

The dog spun in little circles around the room, bouncing excitedly. Yes! Now that Miguel was awake they could have breakfast! It was one of Dante's favorite times of the day (followed closely by lunch, dinner, and snack time). 

 

“Fine fine.” Miguel groaned following the spirit guide out, though his attitude shifted once he too caught the smell of the meat on the skillet. “What smells so good?” 

 

“Breakfast!” Marco answered with a smile. He cut another slice of bacon before placing it in the skillet, quickly pulling his hands away from the jumping grease. 

 

Dante wagged his tail as he smelled the sweet aroma of food. 

 

Miguel peeked over to the stove, ogling the food till Marco gently pushed him back and away from the flame. “Come on, careful muchacho. You may not have skin but the grease can still burn.” 

 

The boy rolled his eyes but obliged and let himself be shuffled back. “You’re such a dad.” Miguel groaned. 

 

Marco paused in his cooking, a single moment of heavy silence before he laughed a little bit and went back to cooking, pushing around the bacon with his spatula. 

 

Miguel looked towards the man and shuffled his feet. It was hard to tell sometimes what was safe to talk about and what wasn't down in this place. Every forgotten soul was left in to fade in Shantytown for different reasons, but a near universal truth was that none of them had had easy lives. 

 

“I never had kids myself.” Marco finally spoke. He paused, spatula stiffly shuffling the meat around. The little sounds of the grease popping and bacon sizzling filled the pauses between the mans words. “Me and well… We always wanted to, but it was not really a possibility in my time.”

 

Dante whined, both out of dissatisfaction at not yet being given breakfast, and the feeling that something sad hung in the air between the two skeletons. 

 

Miguel opened his mouth to speak before pausing, seemingly mulling over his words for a moment. “Who was ‘we’?” he finally asked, throwing a careful glance towards the older skeleton. 

 

“Juan.” Marco spoke softly, carefully placing the bacon onto a cracked plate as he did so. “He was my everything.”

 

“Where is he?” Miguel asked, quietly. 

 

For a moment, neither spoke a word. The silence answering the question. 

 

Dante huffed, stopping his quiet pacing around the shack to nuzzle gently into Miguel's side. He could sense the sadness in the air. It was overpowering compared to the smell of breakfast. 

 

Sadness was Dante’s least favorite emotion. He rarely knew how to fix it. But, cuddles always seemed to help. Thankfully Miguel had picked up the hint, gently scratching behind the dog's ear. 

 

Marco sighed and pulled the pan off the makeshift stove. “Like me, he was the dark secret of the family. The one no one talked about, pretended we didn’t exist. The day I told them who I was, was the day I lost my family forever. When you’re a dark secret in life, there is no one to tell your tale. And then in death, there is few who remember you.” 

 

Miguel and Dante watched as the man carefully split the food into two portions. He grabbed some bread from a tin, breaking it off and setting a piece on each of the plates. “Here muchacho, bread should still be good. Hopefully it’s not too hard.”

 

Dante made a solid attempt to snag a piece of meat off of the plates before Miguel batted him away. 

 

(But! But bacon!!!) 

 

He grumbled and settled for just making whiny noises. 

 

“Juan sounds nice.” Miguel finally spoke. “I wish I could have met him.”

 

Marco smiled. “I think he would have liked you chamaco.” 

Miguel froze at the word. Dante lifted his head, tilting it once or twice in concern and waving his tail nervously. That was a word he recognized. 

 

Miguel gulped a little, fingers idly picking at the bread, pulling off the spots that were too hard to chew. “I lost someone too.” he whispered. 

 

Marco looked up from his plate. 

 

“My great great Grandpa.” Miguel’s voice was quiet, his eyes downcast and focusing on his hands and the little crumbs breaking off onto his plate. “He was forgotten...” his voice began to crack. 

 

Dante looked up to see little tear streaks across his boys face. He whined and gently nuzzled his arm. 

 

Dante hated sadness. 

 

“He was forgotten. And it’s all my fault.” Miguel sobbed. Breakfast was abandoned as he rubbed his fists against his eyes, trying to wipe the tears away only for them to fall again. “I was too late…” He suddenly slapped his hands over his mouth, as if he had spoken too much. Dante knew something was wrong. He didnt know everything, but he knew his boy was hurting and a second emotion was permeating the space, stronger than the sadness. 

 

“Miguel?” Marco called. “You were too late for what?” 

 

Miguel shook his head furiously. “I don’t want to talk about it!” he shouted. 

 

The stench of self hate was almost nauseating. But Dante didn’t know how to make it better.

 

Dante heard the sound of ceramic against wood as he turned to see Marco setting aside his food and swiftly reaching for Miguel. He wrapped a gentle arm around his shoulder. “Hey… hey come on now muchacho it’s ok to cry,” he said, rubbing small circles on the sobbing boy’s back. “Is that what you found out when you went looking for your family last month?” He asked tentatively. 

 

Miguel nodded, face still buried in his hands. 

 

Marco sighed. “It’s ok Miguel.” He whispered. “It’s ok.” 

 

Dante whined. His continued efforts at snuggling seemed to be helping as slowly Miguel’s crying quieted, punctuated by little hiccups. “It’s all my fault…” he mumbled. 

 

“Ay! I’m sure it’s not mijo.” Marco said pulling back a little, a hand firmly placed on each of Miguel’s shoulders. “Miguel, sometimes these things, well these things happen. You cannot blame yourself for this! Promise me you won't do that ok?” He said, holding Miguel's gaze firm. 

 

Miguel gave a weak nod. But even Dante could tell his heart wasn't in it. 

 

(And oh boy it was HARD to ignore the bacon right there on the floor next to him! But! Priorities!!!)

 

(..... bacon- NO! Priorities!!! He was a good boy!) 

 

Eventually the last of Miguel's sniffles died out and he let his bony fingers skirtch that perfect spot behind Dante’s ears. 

 

Oh yeah! That was the spot! 

 

“Ah, I'm sorry about the breakfast…” Miguel mumbles, casting a glance at the bacon now cold and spread across the floor. “And your plate.” 

 

Marco pulled back and looked down at the mess. “Ah! Well no matter.” He shrugged, kneeling down and picking up the broken chips of ceramic. “I'll just find another one. Besides, I'm sure Dante can help us clean up the food.” He said, throwing a stray piece of meat in the air for the alebrije, who caught it with a snap of his jaws. 

 

Finally! Dante had started to worry that he perhaps wasn't going to get any bacon. Which was just not how breakfast was supposed to go. 

 

The alebrije eagerly did his job, vacuuming up the bacon off the floor with his never ending appetite, being careful to avoid any sharp bits as Marco scooted his nuzzle away in places. Between his taking care of the breakfast, and Marco carefully picking up the bits of broken plate, they had that floor good as new in no time! (Which really meant it was back to being a slightly dirty shack floor, now with extra dog drool) 

 

“Hmmm can't let you go without food though. Amelia would skin me alive for one thing.” Marco murmured as he stood up from where he had been cleaning the floor. 

 

Miguel raised an eyebrow at him, vaguely gesturing to the man and his general lack of skin to be skinned in the first place. 

 

Marco smirked. “You know what I mean smart aleck!” He laughed giving the boy’s hair a little ruffle. “Here, we’ll split the rest ok?” 

 

“I couldn't do that-” Miguel began to protest. “It’s your food, I was just a stupid klutz and dropped mine.” 

 

“One, you’re not stupid, don’t say stuff like that muchacho,” the older skeleton scolded, already fetching a fresh plate and divvying up the remnants of the meal, secretly putting more of it on the fresh plate than his own. “And two, you still need to eat. You may not have a stomach but you still get hungry kiddo.” 

 

Miguel silently nodded as Dante once again began pacing around Marco, eyeing the food with a hungry look. 

 

(So what if he just ate? He always had room for second breakfast!) 

 

Miguel began to pick at the food again. The meat had since long gone cold. 

 

The silence held the room for a moment before Marco spoke, leaning against the wall of the shack and crossing his arms. “I don’t know what happened between you and your family.” From across the room Miguel tensed up his shoulders again and the man sighed. “And you don’t have to tell me if you dont want to. But I’m always here to talk ok?”

 

Miguel looked towards him and gave a small unconvincing nod. 

 

“And so is Amelia, or Julieta, and Posada..” He said, crossing the room kneeling down in front of the little musico. “You have family down here.”

 

It took a moment, (in which Dante was very concerned,) before his boy whispered. “Ok.” before rushing forward and circling his arms around the older skeleton. “Thank you.” 

 

Marco smiled and gave him a pat on the head. “Good, now finish up, or I think your dog is going to finish your food for you.” 

 

Miguel laughed, and that was music to Dante’s ears.

 

After finishing breakfast (which mostly consisted of Miguel being silent and Dante attempting to steal more food when he was pretty sure neither skeleton was looking), the pair had found themselves once again wandering the back alleys of The Land of the Dead. Miguel was rubbing his bony fingers over the freshley mended hole in his sweatshirt. 

 

Dante tilted his head and looked up curiously. 

 

“I wonder how much the thread cost Señora Julieta…” he whispered, letting the tattered fabric slip from his grasp. “Or the breakfast from Marco this morning…” he sighed. 

 

Dante was too busy enjoying all the new smells of the day to be paying too much attention. 

 

Mmmm the delicious scent of fresh bread from the bakeries wafted through the air… Sweet, fluffy, flour, revenge-

 

Wait… revenge?

 

Dante whipped his head around.

 

Mariachi!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time- mariachi! 
> 
> Hello I had to walk home from work in almost a foot of standing water some places. Its been a weirdddd week. 
> 
> I will tentatively say the next chapter is going up on Monday (7am +9 GMT), however I have a SUPER busy weekend coming up and the rather insane weather were having right now has thrown things into whack. So hopefully we'll have things up by Monday, if not I should have it up Tuesday at the latest!
> 
> EDIT: I'm very very sorry the update of chap 12 has not happened yet, my home was hit by intense landslides and flooding on friday night/saturday and we are currently uh, not doing so great and updating the fic has been low priority since I had no power for a while. I'm fine but updating the fic has been low priority. Hopefully we'll get back on track by the end of the week (both with the updates and with things clearing up around here)


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